


To The Moon and Back

by littleheavens (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Community: deancasbigbang, Domestic Fluff, Domestication, Don't be scared tho I have done research and tried my hardest not to trigger anyone, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Pre-Fic death of a Minor Character, Multi, Underage Drinking, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 17:59:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/littleheavens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak suffers from the aftermath of a loss that traumatically changed his life when he comes in contact with Dean Winchester - an old acquaintance.</p><p>That moment begins their story; a story built by tragedy, old coffee shops and empty playgrounds, held together by I Love You’s and each other’s warmth during cold nights, and eventually, torn apart by a notebook and a crushed dream for a long lost sister.</p><p>It’s the story where pushing each other away is harder than facing what it’s really about, where two broken people always find their way back to each other - where two boys belong to each other, no matter much they feel like they don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> [[[CHECK OUT THE PLAYLIST ACCOMPANYING THIS WORK](http://8tracks.com/hrvelle/you-are-the-moon)]] 
> 
>   
>  This fic - from concept to final draft - was written for the deancasbigbang 2013, and has taken me about a year to complete. With many sudden plot changes, deleting stuff, adding stuff, etc., it's finally here. And I can't be more thankful to the people who have helped me through this.  
> Therefore, I should really thank some people, shouldn't I?  
> Here's to [Kyra](http://castielele.tumblr.com/), my beta. Thank you for treating this fic with care, and for sharing your wisdom and honesty with me.  
> To [Marcos](http://kenshymidzu.livejournal.com/) \- you are a true talent and I couldn't be more grateful for the gorgeous art you've given this fic.  
> To everyone who supported and cheered on me during the process of the fic - Vicky, Magda, Ange, and the rest of the people who took their time to send me some lovin' on tumblr and twitter. Thanks for cheerleading even when there was nothing to cheer for.
> 
> But of course, the biggest thanks goes to [Anja](http://castielss.tumblr.com/). Thank you for catching me when I felt like falling, and supporting me nonetheless. Thank you for being there since the beginning until the end, and even beyond that. I love you _to the moon and back_ , I'd go further if you asked. And even if you don't.

_I’d cut my soul into a million different pieces just to form a constellation to light your way home. I’d write love poems to the parts of yourself you can’t stand. I’d stand in the shadows of your heart and tell you I’m not afraid of your dark._

_– Andrea Gibson_

A sigh. That’s how it always starts.

No, no wait, not with a sigh. It starts with some screams and shouts, then sirens, followed by handcuffs, mostly. It’s not really a big deal anymore. What happens then are more sirens and, then, silence. A door clicking shut – followed by, ladies and gentlemen,  _the sigh_. Oh, don’t dare forget about the glare of judgment, the muttering and the papers and the “ _last warning, I mean it_ ”. It’s not different this time. Not  _that_  different, at least.

But things do follow a different scenario this time, though.

“Dean, you  _know_  this is not acceptable anymore." That’s what the officer the desksays as he sits down in his chair, looking at the beaten-up face of the twenty-one year old in front of him. He had gotten into a fistfight, for the third time this year and, honestly, the officer is genuinely worried of where the boy might end up if things don’t take a turn soon.

It is silent for some time, before the young boy replies with a shrug. “I know that, sir, it won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time, and the time before, and the time before that, and before that…” the officer trails off and sighs again, looking through a huge pile of paperwork. His name is Victor Henriksen, and he has been doing and loving this job for about seven years now. In all those years, he has never,  _never_  seen a guy lose it like this in such a short period. He can’t blame him, though, not after what happened with his home situation.

“So, what are you going to do about it, huh?” the boy raises an eyebrow, cocky smirk barely visible on his face.

“We discussed this last time, Mr. Winchester, remember? Then the court and we agreed that you had to volunteer at a social service, where you can learn from your, eh, mistakes, in case you ended up here again. And look where we are now. This is what it is, and you’ll get four weeks of it. That’s the only reasonable thing I have in mind right now. Four weeks. It’s not that long, so consider yourself lucky.” Henriksen scratches his chin, like he’s changing his mind, “Unless you want to go to jail, or pay a penitential. You still can, since your criminal record isn’t exactly clean. Especially not in the past few months.”

The eyes of the boy seem to light up, then darken again. Not to mention that his face twists like he just tasted something sour. “Fine, I’ll volunteer. Where?”

“Let’s see…” the man reaches for a drawer and takes some papers out of it. Silence falls and Dean takes the chance to look around the room. This little office is becoming more and more familiar each time he gets thrown in, and he assumes that that isn’t a good sign. Right across from him sits Officer Henriksen, intensely reading through a bunch of paperwork, searching for the bittersweet punishment that awaits Dean. His eyes scan the papers like it’s a quest of life and death, and he sighs in frustration after a few minutes. The uncomfortable silence that had been hanging between the officer and the young man dissolves. “Seems like we can get you started at…uh…Medford. You can either do that, or volunteer to help out with collecting garbage on the street every morning at six o’clock.”

“Me-Medford? You mean that  _institute,_ like, the one next to thehospital?” Dean almost literally spits the words out, raising an eyebrow. Not very winsome. He can’t help it, honestly, but suddenly he is being sucked a few months back, back to  _Sam_. Back to Sam and mom, and dad. Back to his family.

He shakes the memory away, presses his eyes shut and when he opens them again, he dares to ask, “ _What_  exactly am I supposed to do there?”

“Mop floors, mostly. Help the janitor out here and there and a little bit of everywhere. It ain’t a big deal, It’s not like you need to help people, because let’s face it, you’re not very good at that, are you?” Henriksen answers, a laugh escaping his mouth. Dean notices how the officer realizes his mistake way too late, how he coughs in order to cover it up. Ouch.

Dean opens his mouth to mutter something about how Officer Henriksen can suck his fucking dick and that it wasn’t his fault he screwed up once,  _fucking once_ , but he closes his mouth again and puts his façade of recklessness and carelessness back on. He still feels like he just got punched in the stomach, though, and judging by the look Henriksen is giving him, he is pretty sure the officer just  _knows_.

When Dean doesn’t react immediately, Henriksen smiles. “You start in 6 weeks, that means the 5th of March. The institution will call you with more information anytime soon”, and with that, his face turns serious again, “No excuses this time. It’s for the best. I mean it, Dean.”

“Whatever -- I mean, yes, uh, sir.” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes when the officer looks away.

Henriksen gets up and opens the door to let Dean out, patting the boy on the back when he passes him.

“Take care, Dean,” he whispers in his ear, keeping his hand placed on Dean’s back for a moment, making sure he’s heard him.

Dean just sighs in response and leaves the police office without saying anything else.

:::

On the other side of the city, Castiel Novak is sitting in his little bedroom, staring at the jar of sleeping pills he threw on the bed earlier. He’d wanted to catch some sleep, nap a bit, but woke up with the image of Rachel burned on his eyelids. For all these months he’s been pretending to be okay while he really wasn’t. No one noticed, unless maybe Anna or Gabe. But whenever they asked him about it, he would tell them that  _he was fine, thank you very much_. He didn’t need anyone to take care of him. It didn’t matter.

And it still doesn’t.

The posters that used to hang on his walls are all ripped off and thrown on the floor, the picture frames he had filled up with happy and very domestic-looking photos of him and his family are shattered, broken and sprawled all over the carpet. He sighs as he feels a tear roll down his cheek.  _Novaks do not cry, Castiel_ ; it’s what his father had told him once, and yet here he is. It’s the first time he has cried in months – he didn’t even cry at his own goddamn sister’s funeral. All those months he had been feeling like a n empty vessel. Hearing something ‘funny’, but not being able to laugh, being sad but not being able to cry. And holding back too much stuff cracks such things as vessels. He knows that now. It tore him apart from the inside out. Too late… it’s too late.

He can’t do this, can he?

He’s promised Rachel he wouldn’t do it. He has to keep his promise, right? It really is the least he can do. But, after all, Rachel didn’t keep hers either. She isn’t here anymore.

16th of December. That’s when it happened. That’s when Rachel died. And it was his fault. That’s what his father had said, and everything Father says is true, right?

That’s what Crowley said, too.

He shudders at the thought of Crowley, biting down on his lower lip with such force he can almost taste the blood pumping through it. He picks up the jar and tilts it so two of the white pills fall on his palm. He shakes the jar until his whole palm is filled with the drug and holds his breath until he’s forced to inhale again.

Castiel gives himself permission to remember the sound of the shattering glass, even just so briefly. He remembers it all too well; the blinding lights, Rachel and him being thrown forward, the deafening sound of wheels squeaking, his head banging on the dashboard, Rachel not being next to him anymore as he reached for her hand. 

Blood. And Screaming. And pain…  _so much_  pain.

The youngest Novak also permits himself to look at his right arm. The scar’s still there, tracing from the inside of his elbow to his collarbone, like a snake that’s trying to crawl up his arm. It’s only faintly noticeable, but obvious enough. It is proof that his sister is dead. Sometimes Castiel likes to pretend it’s not there, that it didn’t happen.

But he can’t do it anymore. And he can’t keep his promise to her either.

Because neither had she.

_“I won’t leave you, Cas. I’ll always be here.”_ Now, it seems nothing more than a whisper in the back of his mind, it doesn’t even  _sound_  as real as it used to anymore. He takes it as  _the_  sign, the sign that he is finally done here, the last sign – proving it is finally over. For good this time.

“Liar”, he hisses, to no one in particular. Rachel can’t hear him… not anymore.

Those are the last words he speaks before opening his mouth and swallowing all the pills at once.


	2. Hello, stranger

_Six weeks later: March fifth._

It takes Dean Winchester about twenty minutes to get on and off the bus. _The fucking bus._ How he’s managed to survive something like that remains a mystery. He hates public transport, every possible damn form of it. Don’t ever talk to him about buses or trains, hell, don’t even dare to mention _planes_. But, well, he’s lost his driver’s license until this so-called service is over, so now he has no other choice than to take a bus –a freaking bus, _dammit_ — all the way to the institution.

March is still chilly in the mornings, chillier than it usually is. Even though the sun is already shining brightly and he can’t immediately detect any clouds on the pale, blue sky, he still can’t help but shiver at the touch of the soft breeze on his cheeks and arms. Whenever he breathes out, he notices a bunch of smoke-like clouds wriggle themselves out of his mouth.

He’s ten minutes earlier than planned, so he simply decides it’s okay to light another cigarette. It gives him a relaxed feeling as he studies the blue smoke and exhales. It always does, always did, it helps him concentrate, focus on things he should be focusing on. He doesn’t even care about his lung capacity or all that shit anymore. He’ll die eventually, anyway.

Dean can’t deny the fact that he is a little bit stressed, though. It is the psychiatric hospital after all. The Medford Institute is a huge building, able to be seen from about 2 blocks away. Apparently, it’s known for their strict ways of handling things. Or, at least, that’s what Jo told him. If he knew he’d end up volunteering there as a punishment, he wouldn’t have punched that dude. Well, maybe just not that hard. It was just a simple punch anyway, maybe if he hadn’t been so drunk it could’ve been avoided.

Whatever – what had happened, had happened, and he now has to face the consequences.

When he sees his watch is striking the number nine, he hurries inside at the main door reserved for visitors, escaping the breeze that he feels was about to come up again. He follows some of the little blue-and-white arrows and has to wait a minute down by the metal detectors before making his way to the reception desk, just wanting to get it over with.

“You must be Dean Winchester?” the woman behind the reception desk asks once she gets him in her sight.

“Uh, yes,” Dean mutters, looking around. He doesn’t see any patients yet, maybe because it’s still too early, or maybe because they’re just not allowed out of their rooms. He honestly doesn’t know how these things work. It’s not a regular hospital, after all. The only similarity is that the walls are plain white – no pictures, no drawings, no color, almost no emotion. The only thing there is, is a whiteboard with all the activities of the week mapped out. It all looks very sober and quiet, and Dean shivers, only not from the cold this time.

“My name is Mrs. Wallsh, but you can call me Hester. I’ll be here to keep an eye on you during your, eh, _service_.” She says the last word with a sign of disapproval haunting her voice, and Dean almost rolls his eyes at her, hoping she would get angry and kick him out, tell him to earn his good behavior somewhere else. “If you have any questions, I’ll be here”, Mrs. Wallsh – Hester — adds, regrouping herself. She smiles kindly and Dean wonders if she actually means it. Probably not.

“Okay ma’am. Where do I start?” Dean replies, trying to keep his voice casual. He is known to be a pro at making bad first impressions and tries not to do so this time, for once. 

Hester smiles again, with more teeth this time, before guiding him down the hallway, towards the elevators. “Let me show you.”

His punishment starts now. Four weeks. Twenty days of mopping floors. It can’t be that hard right?

 _Wrong_. It can. 

Because, first of all, he is in a psychiatric institution. You never know what, or who, you might run in to. He expects at least some screams and cries to fill the hallways every now and then – even though there is a chance they’ll be just faint, they’ll still be extremely bothersome.

Dean soon finds out that it’s actually pretty tranquil.

That, however, doesn’t mean that it stops him from being extremely annoyed.

The place calls for trouble, and even though it really shouldn’t be – he still expects it to be. Maybe the place itself is not, but what comes with it, is. Not to mention that the institution brings back a few memories he doesn’t want, memories involving his mom. And since Dean wants to keep those bad thoughts in the back of his mind, this isn’t a very good place to be.

:::

Dean is almost finished mopping the first floor when he notices that someone is staring at him. He looks up and sees a boy about his age sitting in the other side of the corridor, on an old sofa that’s pressed against the wall. Something about him draws Dean’s attention, probably the pair of tired eyes that were firmly staring in his direction until he looked up. It’s obviously not the first time he’s seen someone today, but the boy seems… _remarkable_ , somehow.

He seems young. Or, well, younger than Dean, at least. His frame is slender, like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, or like he’s lost a lot of weight recently. He’s wearing the typical white pants and blue shirt that the patients here usually wear. But there is something else, something almost familiar; Dean is almost sure he has seen the boy before, but his brain lets him down on that thought.

There’s a notebook lying in the stranger's – _or not so much of a stranger, whatever_ – lap. Dean figures that it must be a sketchbook, since the patient is holding a pencil in his right hand, that’s balled into a fist so fiercely his knuckles are starting to whiten. Dean quickly averts his gaze, looking down again.

Apparently the younger boy isn’t done staring and Dean just decides he’s going to end the awkward eye contact they keep making. He looks up again, puts on his infamous cocky smirk but raises his eyebrows when the boy doesn’t look away. He just keeps staring at Dean, studying him with a crinkle between his eyebrows.

This results into Dean quickly breaking the eye contact again and making the smirk vanish from his face. He shouldn’t feel intimidated, but he does. He tries to concentrate on mopping the floor again, something that goes terribly wrong considering he still feels the eyes of the younger boy boring into his back. An uncomfortable feeling settles in and, for once, the feeling of being looked at isn’t nice, which seems weird since he’s used to being the center of attention – well, he _was_ used to it, at least.

He’s about to tell the boy to quit his staring when a nurse walks up to him and touches his shoulder. Dean sees how he tenses from the touch.

“It’s time for lunch, Castiel. We’ve got some hamburgers in the cafeteria!” the nurse beams, trying to sound at least a little excited and failing miserably at doing so. She’s tired, Dean can see – it’s either that, or she is just as pleased as Dean is to waste the day here.

The patient –Castiel– says nothing. He just stares at the nurse with a blank expression on his face before shaking his head in protest.

“Come on, Castiel! Your cousin told me you used to love those things!” she tries again while putting a hand on his shoulder. For a brief moment Dean wonders if the guy is deaf, or just ignorant altogether.

Apparently he isn’t, because when the nurse opens her mouth again, Castiel shakes his head even just so briefly, shrugs her hand off of his bony shoulder, gets up and starts walking up to the other side of the corridor like he was planning to do so all along.

Dean watches the guy making his way towards him and, when he almost passes him, he’s once again convinced that he _knows_ the guy from somewhere. He sniffs and shrugs the thoughts off – _him?_ Dean is pretty much sure he wouldn’t forget a face like that.

But, then again, why does the name Castiel sound so familiar?

Dean stiffens when he sees Castiel stop in the middle of a step and turn around to look at him, his two blue eyes judging him with a shocked and, at the same time, _sad_ expression. Dean holds his breath and waits. For a second he’s genuinely afraid the patient might rush over to him and, well, punch him or something. Dean isn’t going to back away, though. He’s not like that and everyone who has their stuff even a little bit together can see that. And what would it matter, since the guy probably isn’t even stable enough to throw a good punch, judging by how slender his body is. However, when the Castiel guy takes a step closer to him, he can’t help but tense up. He swallows, and Castiel mimics his movement simultaneously.

That’s the moment when an alarm goes off in his mind, ringing, shouting that he _knows_ Castiel, that he should remember him, that he should think, think, think. It goes on for the whole ten seconds the two boys stand there, staring at each other like that. The world seems to dissolve around them, even though Dean is faintly aware of the nurse’s sharp intake of breath.

After what doesn’t even feel like ten seconds, but more like ten hours, the patient turns back and half-waddles out of the corridor. Dean then notices that the nurse is staring at him as well.  She blinks a few times before smiling politely and shrugging. She mutters something like 'always the same, always the same bullshit'as she fixes her hair and runs after him.

It’s when he is left alone again that he realizes how hungry he is. The thought of food makes his stomach rumble in approval and he decides it’s time to take a break too. He searches for the way to downstairs, something that actually turns out to be harder than he expected, and looks back to the corridor one last time before shrugging and abandoning it.

:::

Honestly, Dean had expected he wasn’t going to run into Castiel again – even though he knows that that is practically impossible.

What? The guy freaks him out a little.

Obviously, he does run into him a few hours later. Like, _literally_ runs into him.

It happens when he’s almost finished with his service for the day, when he hears approaching footsteps and, a moment later, a deep voice asking, "Dean Winchester?"

He looks up to see a man with brandy brown eyes standing before him. "You are Dean, right?" the man asks, a hint of curiosity coloring his voice.

Dean nods. “Good. I’m Gordon Walker. I’m the janitor."

“Oh, uh, okay. Nice to meet you, I guess,” Dean replies, putting his focus on the wet floor again. “I’m almost finished here so can I head straight home afterwards?” he adds, not looking up from his work. He has to admit his voice holds a little bit of irritation, but he can’t help it. He’s tired and craving a drink.

He’s always craving a drink when he’s feeling like shit.

“Sure thing. Please put your cart away, will you? Janitor’s closet is on the first floor.”

Dean sighs in frustration, but nods when he sees how Gordon is giving him a glance as if to tell him to not seek any trouble. “I know, I _know,_ ” he says without looking up. In the corner of his eye he sees how the older man hesitates for a second before patting Dean on the shoulder and turning around, murmuring "See ya tomorrow, kiddo" as he does so.

Dean quickly swipes the cloth over the tiles one more time before collecting his stuff and heading to the janitor’s closet, which is two floors down.

It’s getting dark outside. Through the window he sees how the sky is turning into a darker shade of blue, here and there being interrupted by some strings of yellow, pink and orange. But no matter how beautiful that looks, he still isn’t looking forward to the walk to the bus stop because he’s certain it’s still cold outside--maybe even colder than earlier.

He looks for room 1.4.2, the room Hester had told him this morning to put his stuff away when he was done. When he finds it, the door is open and there’s a faint light coming from inside. He walks in backwards, pulling the cart with him, only to notice that he has just entered the wrong room. He only realizes that when he doesn’t see any other broomsticks or mops, but a closet and a bed instead. He tenses and is about to push himself back out, hoping the inhabitant of this room didn’t see him come in, when he hears someone faintly cough behind him.

He turns around to see the patient from earlier, Castiel, staring at him.

If he’s being honest, he has to admit that his heart stops for a moment.

The guy is sitting on the windowsill, that same notebook from earlier clutched in his hand. He has been staring outside, Dean notices, because his body is still semi-directed towards the street outside. His head is turned towards Dean now, though.

“Uh, hey… _hey there_!” Dean starts, seeing how the patient stares intently at him. “Your name’s Castiel, right?”

He takes a step forward, awaiting, testing if the boy would flip him off or something. However, Castiel does not say anything back. Hell, all he does is just… _stare_.

Dean feels how those eyes are scanning him from head to toe. And, once again, he gets that uncomfortable feeling and can’t help but shudder a little bit.

The silence that falls is piercing him and Dean eventually takes the risk of shattering it by explaining how he had entered the wrong room and was meant to get into the janitor’s closet, while pointing at the carriage he had left by the door.

Again, Castiel doesn’t respond.

“Dude, can you, I don’t know, talk?” Dean growls, irritation dripping from his voice.

He just wants to test the guy, really. Pull his strings and see what would happen. He wants Castiel to speak up for fuck’s sake – maybe because his voice would give him confirmation that they have actually met before. His face looks so, so familiar, not to mention those eyes. In the dim light that comes through the window, combined with the little lamp placed next to the windowsill, his eyes have the color of ice blue. He knows that sounds cliché, but it’s the truth. They aren’t very delicate, but still look like they contain a pure and cold light at the same time. They look like they can freeze you right then and there.

Castiel doesn’t say anything, but his mouth twitches a little, like he wants to smile but something is pulling the corners of his mouth back down.

“Well, fine, you win!” Dean exclaims as the pressure becomes a little too much for him. He’s annoyed and tired and regretting that he has been curious about this boy in the first place. He just wanted to remember who Castiel is and where he comes from… for the one time he actually makes an effort himself.

So he just turns around, kicking the cart onto the corridor and following it. He’s about to slam the door shut when Castiel finally speaks.

“You know, I still remember you, Dean Winchester.”

And, at that, Dean freezes in his movement and looks at Castiel again to see that the patient’s attention is drawn back to the notebook that is open this time. He is scribbling something down, smiling a little bit despondently.

“What did you say?” Dean asks quietly, thinking he might have imagined it.

Castiel looks up and blinks at him, as if he is surprised he’s still standing there. Then he shrugs sadly and goes back to writing.

Dean groans, frustration washing over him. He needed a cigarette since like, _last century_ , so he slams the door shut and makes his way to the _actual_ janitor’s closet – which appears to be the room next to Castiel’s.

He should have volunteered at that garbage station instead.

:::

The parking lot of the institution looks empty when he finally gets out, the silence hanging there almost screeching. It’s around six thirty when Dean crosses it, looking back at the silhouette of the huge building he wants to be as far away from as possible.

Well, maybe not the building, but the people.

 _One_ person, in particular.

The bus ride home isn't long, only about ten minutes, but damn does Dean miss his baby. He misses the scent of leather and cheap whiskey he'd managed to sneak out the door so many times, whenever his dad wasn't looking. But times have changed, like a revolution is Dean's life. He lost his home, parents, brother, dignity, and maybe even a little bit of his sanity in, what? A year? Hell, he didn’t even dare to go and see Sammy graduate. The only thing he has now is the lousy apartment in the center of the city and a few friends he still knows from high school.

He thinks it’s weird. Weird how Dean Winchester, star of the lacrosse team, lady killer and careless badass lost all of the things that once seemed to matter. Suddenly, he feels extremely tired by just thinking about it and plans to go straight to bed after he swallows down some dinner.

Obviously, Jo Harvelle has other plans.

"Dean-o," she starts when Dean picks up the phone after what must be the third ring.

"Joanna Beth," Dean states solemnly as he laughs at the thought of how she must be cringing at the sound of her full name. And, indeed, Dean hears her growl and hiss, " _shut up_."

He laughs, and the tiredness ebbs away a little more. Cigarettes help, but apparently so does Jo’s voice. They’ve been best friends since kindergarten, but Jo moved back to Nebraska after graduation to lend a hand in the pub their granddad used to own. She calls regularly, if only to check in on him. Especially ever since he’s been living on his own.

Dean’s dinner is in the microwave as he drops himself onto the couch and watches the chicken and rice make small circles in the cheap heating box. He prefers cooking his food himself, but he couldn't resist. It was at his doorstep when he arrived earlier, with a note attached to it.

" _Leftovers. I thought maybe you'd want them._

 _\- Mary_ "

He had been tempted to just throw it away and make his own damn food, for fuck’s sake, but he had taken it inside and warmed it up anyway. Mary is Dean's mother, after all, and the only family member that still somewhat talks to him. Secretly, of course. He supposes his dad would actually kill her if he found out.

"How was your first day at the, you know?" Jo asks, and Dean shudders a little when he realizes she's still on the phone. Dean sighs and he hears Jo shuffle on the other side. “I bet it was very interesting.”

"It wasn't…just wet floors, to be honest. And normal people. Well, a little bit...different than us, though. Some of them were so lovely, Jo, like actually really fucking nice.” He pauses of a second. “And yet, I guess I'd fit in there," he replies, resting the back of his head on the couch and pinching the bridge of his nose when he imagines a pair of particular blue eyes in front of him.

"Don't be silly, Winchester. Or, must I say, _whine_ chester?"

Now it is _Dean's_ turn to growl. "Hey, chesthairvelle, how about you shut the hell up?" he whispers, trying to sound angry but laughing at the intake of breath he hears his best friend make.

The microwave beeps and he gets up again while Jo changes the topic and starts to ramble about things that really don't matter, so Dean can safely fix his attention on getting the food out without setting his hands (or the kitchen) on fire. He doesn't really pay attention until he notices Jo has stopped talking all of a sudden.

"You remember Anna, right?" she asks, her voice suddenly serious.

Dean nods, then realizes that he's on the phone and that Jo can't see him. "Hmmmhm, Anna Milton? Jo, please, of course I do. We were friends. She still lives in Portland, too."

"Yeah, I...uh...I remember something now that might be interesting for you." Her voice trembles and Dean hears her swallow before she adds, "her cousin's in, you know…"

"The inst- you mean _Medford_ 's? The one where I _work_?"

Jo exhales. "Yeah, you might run into him one of these days. It's possible."

"Sure, and uh, what's his name?" Dean asks, and he dreads that he might know the answer, because who else could be related to Anna Milton except for...

"Castiel."

Dean is convinced he’s either going deaf or imagining things. If he wasn’t sitting already, he would have had to sit down as quickly as possible right now. "C-c-castiel?"

Jo sighs, irritated. "Yeah, Dean. Remember? You used to be kind of pals until like, 4th grade. You know, Castiel and,” her voice becomes quiet at the name “Sam. Well, especially him and Sam.”

She coughs, like something’s stuck in her throat before continuing. “Then you became a douche and one day you shoved him against a locker and sneered at him for being in your way and..." Her voice trails off, the sound of disappointment and disgust that was mixing in also fading. Dean knows the rest now, remembers it. Castiel had simply told him to get out of the way, resulting in Dean shoving him against the nearest locker and hissing, " _I think it's time for you to shut your mouth_."

He ignores the fact Jo just called him a douchebag, because maybe it was true. He looks at his dinner in front of him and swallows. He feels like choking, to be honest. He hadn't felt guilty about it, until now.

He used to see Castiel hanging around with a chubby, English kid--Crowley, Dean thinks his name was. The two of them holding hands and smiling together. Dean vaguely remembers seeing them kissing on the bench in the shadows at lunch. He remembers Castiel, alive and smiling brightly. Castiel, full of life. No wonder he didn’t recognize him at first. It’s been years since they last saw each other.

"Oh god...I ran into him today," he mutters and suddenly he doesn't feel hungry anymore. He gets up, takes the box of rice and chicken and throws it in the trash.“I, fuck, I didn’t recognize him.” On the other side, he hears Jo sigh.

"Dean, you're an idiot. And I have to help my mom in the Roadhouse now. Just...be nice to him, or whatever. He's there for a reason. Must be." and then there’s a click, followed by silence.

Dean throws his phone onto the sofa and goes to the bathroom. The tiredness is flooding over him again, like a wave, and it’s drowning him - maybe it's the weight of the guilt pressing on his shoulders. He tries to wash it off by splashing water into his face quickly. It doesn’t help.

He doesn't even bother to find the shirt matching his pajama bottoms before crawling into bed. His stomach rumbles a little and he sighs. The bed is more comfortable than it should be, and before he knows it he feels like he’s drowning once more, only in the darkness this time. With a shade of blue.

Castiel’s blue.


	3. Zippers

Castiel dreams quite often. But well, technically, it’s not really dreaming. Not since they mostly turn out to be nightmares. Last night he had hoped it would be one of the nights his dreams just remained dreams. He had hoped to dream of Rachel visiting him, her voice calling out for him from all the way down the stairs. How she told him she was going to get him out of here and that they would go on an adventure together. How they ran, and Mrs. Wallsh waved them goodbye, her smile bright and white. He had hoped her face wouldn’t be suddenly stained with blood and pieces of glass. His hopes became reality – partly.

Last night, he’d slept dreamless. At least that’s what he thinks, since he didn’t wake up screaming and his breathing had somewhat been normal. He hadn’t been smiling, either. He doesn’t know. Maybe sleeping dreamless was even better than dreaming at all, because it hurts him to wake up otherwise.

He’s awake earlier than planned, regarding that no one has come to wake him yet. He lays back down and presses his eyes shut, trying to make his mind fade back to black. He has both group and private counseling sessions during the afternoon, which means _talking_. Which means getting involved with people. Which means he isn’t looking forward to going. 

But not going means not getting better; it’s what Gabe once told him while he visited on the third week. So he went, he still goes, but he doesn’t talk much. He only nods if they ask him if he’s doing alright, or if he’s doing better. He isn’t lying, because the new meds they are give him, combined with his Father not always being there to guilt trip him, not even visiting him at all; it helps.

He doesn't talk much to people anymore, stopped speaking in full sentences once his sister passed. At least, he hadn’t until yesterday, because yesterday Dean Winchester came rolling into the wrong room - his room. Out of all people, it had to be Dean Winchester. Castiel had been overwhelmed by the memory, had felt the pain in his left shoulder again, and he had spoken, " _I remember you._ "

He pushes the thought away for a second and inhales deeply, as if the words will be drawn back into his mouth.

He hears the birds chirp outside already, and he sees a faint light coming through the shutters. He’s not going back to sleep, he realizes, so he gets up and opens them, letting his room flood with the bright light of the sun. He guesses it must be around seven in the morning now. Patients get waken up around seven-thirty, breakfast is at eight. The bed next to his is empty; his roommate finished his second round here a few days ago, but Castiel doesn’t really notice any difference. He didn’t even know his name, or can’t recall it properly. Silence had filled the room back then, and it still does now. He’ll probably get a new roommate soon, unless Cas gets out of here in time.

He grabs his notebook, but opens the window shutters before he actually opens it. The sun is already at a decent height to light his room enough to not have to turn on the lights anymore. He might not speak a lot, but he draws. Faces, animals, lifeless objects. Rachel’s face, with her eye crinkles and dimples. He hasn’t drawn her since he’s got here, but her drawing catches his eyesight whenever he’s flipping through the pages when he can’t sleep at night. He also sees Crowley –his ex, kind of– and the unwritten story about what is and should have been told in the lines of a pencil. He used to enjoy drawing a lot, because it used be about the little things found beautiful. Hands, especially. Bracelets and fingers, rings too.

He wanted to apply to a college in San Francisco, as an art student. He was actually going to after graduation, but then all the stuff with Rachel happened and he missed his chance to apply. Maybe next year.

Father still wants him to apply as an engineer, and honestly, something tells him he should. He hasn’t spoken to his father in weeks, not since he got placed here. He doesn’t want to, either, but it stings. Maybe he will contact him in again when he tells him he’s gotten a degree in engineering.

Maybe it’s the only reasonable thing to do, too, since Castiel stopped drawing right after Rachel died. She was one of the only people who really supported the direction he wanted to go in. He didn’t draw for what felt like ages, until he got put in the open ward and his assigned psychologist, Dr. Erica Cartwright, told him to keep drawing after he told her about it.

He shakes his head, as if the thoughts of her will go away, and caresses the soft paper of his sketchbook. He spots a name scribbled next to the doodle of a pair of eyes he remembers drawing yesterday. There is it again. A name. _Dean._

The image of the older boy jumps into his head again, like it had been waiting for Cas’ mind to fall back on it. Suddenly he is eight again and he is on the playground with Sam –his once best friend, Sam ‘ _Sammy_ ’ Winchester– and he sees Dean approaching. Dean, only a few years older and riding his bike like he didn’t do anything else since the day he was born. He’s coming to pick up Sammy –because that’s what big brothers do, he says.

Then suddenly, Cas is in high school and he sees Dean hang around with a guy named Ash, who has a funny hairdo, and a beautiful girl named Jo. Castiel's cousin Anna is there too, and Castiel wonders if he’s still the same Dean like he was years ago.

Finally the roller-coaster of memories takes a dangerous loop and he is fifteen and a bit shy and he asks Dean to get out of his way, then asks him again, then _pushes_ him and Dean growls and sneers to that he should shut up.

He shakes his head and he is nineteen and in a hospital bed, staring at a drawing of two bright green eyes.

He decides he doesn't have time to think about it. Doesn't permit himself to make time for it, either. Dean Winchester belongs to one of the old equivalents of Castiel, the Castiel that was _secretly_ unhappy unless he were alone with Rachel. That Castiel is dead now, gone, just like Rachel herself - cremated with the ashes of a car wreck. That Castiel died with his sister, just like it should have gone.

There are many Castiels, if he has to be quite honest. There is the depressed Castiel, and the anxious Castiel, and the both-depressed-and-anxious-Castiel. Post-Traumatic Stress Castiel. There used to be a clever Castiel, and a scared Castiel -especially when Father's eyes were bloodshot and his breath smelled like liquor- and sometimes, even an okay Castiel.

A fully happy Castiel wasn't among them, and hadn't been an option either. Never. Not with a father like that. He doesn’t really know what kind of Castiel he is now, but he figured out that it is a combination of all of them. Before he had tried to kill himself six weeks ago, he was sucked and drowned into a pool of insecurity, until the final drop came he felt like he couldn’t breathe and he woke up in a pool of his own vomit, a paramedic calmly telling him it was going to be alright.

He didn’t come here because he wanted to, no. He was dragged to the hospital, on a stretcher, unconscious and barely breathing. Well, technically not here, but to the hospital next to the institution. After the hospital came the day clinic, followed by Medford, no choice or option. According to Anna, his personal folder says that he’s been put in the closed ward for ten days because he was “danger to himself”. Closed ward meant supervision at all times, no freedom, no breathing space. After the closed ward he went to the open ward, where things were easier. He did go back to the closed ward after that, 72 hours after he first switched, because of a really bad panic attack, a symptom of his PTSD. It’d been like that, switching back and forth, for three weeks. It’s over now, at least.

He’s spent the last three weeks in this room, or at least on this corridor, this building. He likes the open more, because even though it isn’t really like being outside he feels like he’s able to breathe. The closed ward reminded him of his old home – a place he definitely doesn’t want to be.

He believes he's getting better, because Rachel's voice has been fading and has stopped haunting his thoughts. Sure, he misses her constant presence and her laugh, and how soft her hands felt whenever she stroked his cheek. He doesn’t expect otherwise, because who wouldn't miss the only person in the family they could rely on? After everything they’ve been through together? Just imagine stubbing your toe on the table, imagine that feeling in your heart, ten times worse and it's the heartache that creeps up whenever he thinks about her.

He _does_ still see her sometimes, in his nightmares and dreams. Nightmares mostly, where he relives the night of the accident, relives the terror and the blood and the screams. He relives it and keeps on reliving it until Ava, Meg, or some of the other nurses comes to wake him up. He can sometimes feel her, too. Her touch on his cheek, caressing it like it’s made of silk. He leaned into it at first, but thinks it is better to push it away now.

Today, it is Meg's turn to wake patients. She seems genuinely surprised when she sees Castiel already up and dressed in the usual outfit, scribbling in his notebook. She tells him it’s time to get to the cafeteria for breakfast, like always. He makes his way down the stairs and into the common area. It’s the same breakfast every day; two pieces of bread, with chocolate spread or cheese, a glass of water –or milk, if preferred– and the required daily dose of medication. He chokes it down before taking his plate and sitting down with a few of the others. They know he doesn’t talk much, doesn’t talk at all sometimes – but they’ve been so kind towards Castiel. They make him feel more at home than he ever felt in his life. Ava smiles as she sees him on the way out, asks him if he is doing well today and he nods.

Instead of going to his regular sitting spot on the corridor, where he always waits until their daily activities start, he retreats back into his room to draw. He draws what he sees from his spot on the windowsill, thus nothing important really. He also finishes the sketch of the bird nest he can see from his window. He begins drawing the face of John Lennon, too, just because it’s John Lennon.

Deep down he knows he’s staying in his room because Dean is out there and he doesn’t want to run into him again. It’s not like he’s afraid, though, but today is just an okay day and he can’t afford himself to get it ruined by memories he doesn’t want. Rachel even managed to not haunt his thoughts in a bad way so far, for once.

He wonders why Dean is here in the first place. Maybe it’s better not to know.

At noon, though, he’s getting hungry and the realization he has sessions to attend starts poking at him.He’s thinking of going down to the common room for a while, maybe draw some of the people down there. Different faces from different angles, that must look good on his portfolio, if he ever hands one in.

Maybe it’s the bright sun that does it, maybe it was the dreamless sleep. Maybe he’s finally fine. He sure hopes he is.

He gets up and clasps his notebook in one hand, reaching for the doorknob with the other one. He opens the door a little and right there is Dean, mopping the floor, humming along to a song Cas can just hear through the headphones slipped over Dean's ears-- 'Ramble On', by Led Zeppelin. His back is turned towards Cas, so he might just have a chance of sneaking out without Dean seeing him.

He opens the door a little wider, peeking his head outside. He takes a deep breath, tells himself to man up and just walk out. He’s being ridiculous, because let’s be honest – Dean doesn’t care about him, he just wants to mop floors and then get out. He hasn't changed, has he?

Dean doesn’t seem to notice when Castiel steps out. He doesn’t turn around at the sound of the door, probably because his music is too loud to notice. Castiel casually wanders down the corridor, taking the chance to glance over his shoulder at the last moment. Suddenly, he feels how his body connects with someone else’s, followed by the feeling of his back hitting the floor.

“I’m so, so sorry, Castiel! I was just about to get you but I did not kn—” a familiar female voice starts rambling while she puts a hand out towards Castiel. He grunts and scowls, curse words almost escaping his lips. He takes a deep breath and looks up to see who just almost ran him over. He sees the familiar brown hair and round face of Ava. Behind the usual professionalism that normally haunts her face, Castiel notices something else. Worry? Or maybe a hint of relief? Probably both.

“I’m very sorry, Castiel. I was about to check up on you. You know, I’m doing my usual round and I hadn’t seen you around since breakfast,” Hester explains, a hand placed on Castiel’s shoulder. He doesn’t like being touched so he kindly shrugs the hand off.

If she notices, she is pretty good at hiding it. She just smiles as he nods and runs a hand through his black, thick hair. “Can you handle it on your own?” she asks, and something that looks like anticipation shadows over her face for a millisecond.

Castiel nods and Ava puts her hand on his shoulder again. She’s always been touchy-feely like that. “Good, then I will see you downstairs. I’m going to get Sarah first, then.” Castiel presses his eyes shut until he feels how Ava’s hand leaves his shoulder. He shudders a little and turns around and lets his eyes follow the young nurse’s movements.

Something catches his eyesight, and he sees Dean waving at him. He smiles kindly and Castiel raises his eyebrows a little before putting on a shy smile himself and turning around.

He hears his name being called and notices the one calling his name was Dean. " _Castiel_! Hey, Cas?"

Castiel frowns at yet another short form of his name. It's not like he doesn't like it, but it sounds so terribly wrong coming out of Dean's mouth. He is used to nicknames, such as _Cassie_ and _little angel_ \- he's named after an angel, after all - but those names were given to him by people he knew and trusted. He doesn’t even slightly trust Dean.

He walks completely out of the corridor when Dean echoes his name again. He hears the boy sigh in frustration when he doesn't reply. Castiel repeats the thought from earlier again, forming the words with his mouth, but making no sound. _"Dean Winchester belongs to the Castiel that is now dead."_

And it works. The voice calls him one last time, then fades.

:::

It is said talking about how you feel helps. It doesn't, not really. Maybe it doesn't because Castiel doesn't actually _talk_ , but still, he is convinced of the thing that malfunctions as ‘talking about your feelings’.

He sits at his sessions and listens to Benny, Sarah, a guy named Rufus and some girl named Ruby talk about themselves, about what they have experienced and about what caused them to be here today. They do it willingly, sometimes quiet and stammering, sometimes smiling bravely. Castiel doesn't really hear what they're saying anymore because trust him, he's heard it all before.

It’s the new ones he observes, for who he awaits to tell them their story. He knows how it feels to sit down here for the first time, and wait until it’s your turn to spill your guts. It’s a good thing that everyone always makes sure they get a warm welcome, no matter how bad it is.

They're a group of twenty-five people who are younger than thirty, and Castiel is one of them. When it's his turn and the counselor asks him if he is doing okay, he nods in confirmation. Hester is sitting next to him and gives Castiel an encouraging smile, but the young boy doesn't bother to elaborate like the rest of the group did earlier. If she was at least a little smarter than this she should know.

The session goes on and on for what seems like hours, and Hester keeps rambling soothing words about how it’ll be okay sooner or later. Castiel doesn’t listen – the words go through him like they are made of air. He remembers the first time he was here, shuddering and shaking at the thought of talking about his feelings in a group. He has always liked being alone, even when he was younger. To be honest, he feels more lonely in a crowd than when he is actually alone.

It’s about two-thirty in the afternoon there’s a soft knock on the other side of the door and Ava comes in, pointing at the watch on her wrist. It’s time for private sessions, if scheduled, or to retreat back to the rooms or common area until dinner. Castiel has a private session scheduled with his counselor, Erica, and decides he might as well go – he barely even bothered to show up in the beginning, and it brought him nowhere at all.

Erica Cartwright is sweet and kind, and she’s really professional. She listens in case he wants to talk, and tries to make Cas do so anyway if he doesn’t. She knows how Castiel works by now, how he rather sits wrapped up in the silence – but she’s just doing her job. Cas used skipped the counseling for the past two weeks, even though he doesn’t know why.

Or, maybe he does. Cas hates to admit, hates to admit he’s a weakling when stuff gets bad. But Erica always tells him he’s strong. When he first hinted that, she smiled and said: “Some say that if you get help from others it makes you weak, because you're not using your full strength. Really though, it's one of the strongest and hardest things to do.”

“Why?” he had whispered, tone low. It had been one of the first thing he’d said during that particular session.

“Because you have to set your pride aside to do it. It’s challenging, I know.”

It helped him open up to her. To her and only her. So counseling goes… _better_ now, and Cas hopes he is making progress. This time, he finds himself baffled at how time passes, and before he knows it, the session is over and it’s time for dinner.

:::

When he goes back to his room after dinner, where he’s safe and sound, he sees the silhouette of someone leaning against his doorframe. Dean. Cas averts his eyes, but still hears Dean sigh as he gets closer. He glances up, and watches Dean run a hand though his hair before stepping aside, making way so Castiel can pass him. When their shoulders almost bump against each other, the younger boy feels how Dean puts a hand on his arm. He freezes.

“Hey Cas… _tiel_ ,” Dean starts, carefully removing the hand from Castiel’s shoulder, sliding it down towards his elbow. “I…can I come in?” 

Castiel doesn’t really have a choice, not with Dean giving him that hopeful smile. He shrugs but says nothing, ducking past Dean and into his room. Someone has made the bed for him and his sketchbook is still on the desk, right where he left it when he came back from the common room earlier that day. The room smells like detergent with a strong scent of lavender and Castiel walks up to the window to open it a little and let some fresh air in.

He inhales deeply and closes his eyes for a second, hands clutched onto the windowsill. He knows his knuckles must be white by now, but he presses harder. It helps and he calms down, letting the wave of the summery breeze that manages to come through the window wash over him. He manages to forget everything for a second, or a minute – or for quite some time, at least – before someone behind him coughs and he snaps out of his daze.

Dean’s still behind him, smiling awkwardly. “Hey, Castiel. How are you today?”

Castiel raises his eyebrows for a second before letting them drop into a frown. He bites his lip and shrugs, seeing how Dean really needs to try and not roll his eyes. He’s not sure if Dean remembers him, but judging by the look in the young man’s eyes he might.

“I’m not fine as well. I’m having a shit day, to be honest,” Dean starts when Castiel doesn’t reply. “For starters, I overslept this morning. Idiotic right? Secondly, I had a terrible headache and I don’t have aspirin anywhere.” He laughs, hollow and emotionless, and Castiel winces at the sound. “I had a weird dream. It was filled with blue. Your blue, I mean, the blue of your eyes, to be exact.”

His blue of his eyes? What is that supposed to mean? Rachel and Anna, even Gabe, sometimes used to tell him his eyes were a special color, but them being referred to as “your blue”? That was new.

He opens his mouth to snap at Dean, ask him to leave. The boy's presence makes him uncomfortable - as does every _stranger_ s'. Technically, not really a stranger, but still. He hesitates at the look Dean is giving him, eyebrows raised in surprise at the fact Castiel can actually respond to things. His mouth snaps shut.

"Oh come on, Castiel. Talk to me, Sam and you used to talk, right? You were a friend of _him_ ," Dean says, almost begging. The boy's eyes withhold something that wasn't there a second ago. Sorrow? Regret? Maybe concern? It doesn't matter, Cas reminds himself, Dean Winchester is dead to him and he can stay dead, can't he? Once Dean's done with whatever he's doing Castiel will never see him again.

"Why don't you talk?" Dean asks.

And it's a dumb question, really, since Dean should know Castiel won't reply, not really. But Dean's eyes look so very sincere that Castiel almost shudders - what if he's changed?

Castiel just doesn't like talking, never did. He doesn't like talking because talking means interacting and interacting means befriending and befriending means attachment and attachment means getting hurt. The only person he willingly talked to ever since he was ten had been Rachel but then the car crash happened last year and Rachel left, and apparently, so did Castiel's ability to speak.

Erica and Hester had told Castiel when he first came here that " _you won't be able to get better unless you find someone else to trust, no matter how hard it is."_

"Hey man, I'm trying to befriend you here, sort of, but it has got to come from more than one side," Dean murmurs, taking a step closer to the windowsill, where Castiel is. "If you don't want me, just, I don't know, push me out."

The only thing Cas can do is bite his lip and avert his gaze, wondering why Dean is even trying in the first places. He owes him nothing.

Castiel can see how Dean takes another step closer and presses his eyes shut, like he's waiting for Castiel's hands to place themselves on his chest and push, push, push. The push doesn't come, mostly because Castiel's thoughts run a thousand miles per second.

_Get better with finding someone else to rely on. Asking for help makes you strong. I promise I won't leave you. Shut up. Gotta take care of my little brother. Car Crash - One dead. Push me out._

_Silence._

Talking. Talking means getting hurt.

Maybe, maybe things are gonna be worth it. Maybe he just needs to learn how to trust again – and it won’t be easy. Asking for help doesn’t make you weak. Talking doesn’t make you weak, either. It doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t.

It does.

But he starts talking anyway.

"Hello, Dean."

 


	4. Whispers 'n Words

" _My God, Cas_. Hand me that broom, will ya?"

A grumble is all Dean gets in response, and he can't help but burst out a small laugh. "Castiel!" Dean whines, still smiling. "Please?" 

He watches the younger boy pick up the broom, leaning on the wall next to where he's sitting. Castiel gives it a small push and it falls forward, in Dean's direction. Dean thanks him and he grumbles as to say _'you're welcome_.' His eyes haven’t left the notebook in his hands ever since Dean met up with him in the corridor today.

Cas isn't exactly always the best company, even now he's decided to begin talking to Dean. But Dean doesn't mind. It doesn't bother him to receive no response whenever he asks for the broom or a cloth to clean the floor.

The past six weeks, they have fallen into a steady rhythm of talking a bit when they're in his room, and communicating in silence when Dean's roaming the corridors, cleaning them while Castiel watches and draws in a light green sketchbook. He thinks it's okay to remain silent and not push Castiel to speak, because Dean likes watching the younger boy.

It was tense at the beginning, awkward. Dean didn’t know what to say, didn’t really understand why he had even tried in the first place. Castiel had a really closed attitude – like he was wearing a shield at all times. He still does, in some way. The choice to hang out like this, in this fucked up situation, was a choice made on both sides, though. They kept each other company when Cas isn’t with the other patients.

They don’t talk about certain stuff. They don’t even dare to bring it up – there’s this safe bubble they retire in, and they don’t want to break it just yet. Dean doesn’t know why Cas is here, neither does Cas know why Dean fills his days cleaning floors at the institution. Whatever happened to Cas must’ve been horrible, because ever since they crossed paths, the image of a happy, energetic, young Castiel with dark brown hair playing in the sandbox with Sam Winchester is burned on Dean’s eyelids. Cas is just too different now.

To be quite honest, they don’t really know that much about one another. Dean knows Cas likes drawing, and listening to music. His favorite color is light blue (like his eyes), and he wears sweaters all the time. Cas knows Dean has a thing for cars and motorbikes, and that _“70’s rock is the way to go, honestly.”_ Those little things form an image, even though it would look entirely different once they find out the stuff that caused them to be here.

The time’s not there just yet, Dean figures. It’s better that way. Until then, he just stays stilent and admired the view of how the other boy scribbles in the book, how his tongue peeks out a little when he's concentrating. He likes how Castiel draws with passion, how Dean sees him angry when the lines don't form themselves correctly, how he sees him nearly crying when he's drawing a girl with long, blond hair. She has a stern face, and Castiel draws here eyes in such a way you could almost see the color in them through the grey of the crayons.

Dean doesn't tell him he’s got an idea of what happened to Cas. He doesn't need to. Castiel has made it clear he trusts Dean enough to talk around him, but to actually show him the art he makes - it would be too much. That's obvious, and Dean doesn't mind. He catches a glimpse of the book every now and then, but Castiel will either glare at him or crawl back into his cave of silent treatment if Dean ever dares to bring it up.

It's near lunchtime when Dean is finished with the first floor. Ever since Cas began to keep him company during his service, the time goes faster but the work goes slower. Thank the Gods that Castiel sometimes has sessions to go to and activities to attend, so Dean can actually work. He enjoys Cas' company though, and it seems that Cas enjoys his as well, though he doesn't want to get his hopes up. Not only because Cas will get out here soon enough, but also because what if he fucks up like he fucked up with _Sam_?

He shrugs the thought off – a thing he learned ages ago. He focuses on today, on _now_. Whenever patients get the freedom to do their ‘safe activities’, Castiel comes to find him. Hester has seen them together a lot of times but she doesn't say anything about it, she just smiles encouraging. It’s like she wants to deliver him a message, something that should sound like _good job_. Dean just shrugs in response, smiling as politely as he can.

Truth is, Dean likes Castiel, and even though the guy is even more damaged than he is, he seems okay for the most part. Dean’s motives may be driven by regret, but it became so much more than that over the past few weeks - past few days especially.

"Hey, Castiel, shouldn’t you report down by the cafeteria for lunch?” Dean says after his stomach rumbles at the scent of cooked meat that drifts through the corridors. Castiel looks up, eyes a bit wary, and inhales the scent. He shakes his head, and goes back to drawing.

“Come on…” Dean starts, but he knows it is no use. Castiel is stubborn, and he will most likely not move unless Dean drags him. “Okay, fine, but I will. They’ll come to get you anyway, you know that right? Y’gotta eat.”

A grumble. Obviously.

Dean rolls his eyes and turns around, slowing his pace. He waits a second, to check if Cas is following. However, the other boy is still in the chair, so Dean sighs and turns around again.

“Come on, Cas. Please? I sure as hell won’t pick you up and carry you downstairs, bridal-style, but you need to stay outta trouble, man.”

Cas closes his notebook and looks at Dean. “Will it stop you from complaining if I do?” he asks, one of the first things he’s said today.

“Sure,” Dean replies, turning around again. This time he hears Cas follow and waits until the patient caught up with him.

“I wonder why you care enough,” Cas mutters, almost too quiet to be heard over the echo of their footsteps. Dean pretends like he doesn’t hear it, mainly because he doesn’t even have an answer.

They walk in silence, and Cas just nods when he has to take a left turn to go to the cafeteria. Dean smiles softly, once, before continuing to the staff room at the end of the hall.

When Dean comes back into the corridor half an hour later, Castiel is back where he was earlier. Staff and patients aren’t allowed to have food together, unless you’re to watch the patients.

The other boy’s tongue peeks out from between his lips and his brow is furrowed in what looks a little bit like frustration. He’s too busy to notice Dean, whose gaze goes from Castiel’s hands, to his pink mouth, to his eyes.

Dean clears his throat when Castiel still doesn’t look up after two minutes, and right then, the two blue eyes meet his. “Sorry to interrupt. I, uh, I’m going to, uh, work some more. I’ll be done soon.” he says, gesturing towards the cart.

Castiel just nods and smiles. “That’s okay,” he answers.

He glances at him once more before pushing the cart, leading himself to the next floor. He thinks he sees Castiel squint a little, but then the younger boy looks back down and picks up his pencil.

Dean finds out that next floor is empty as well. He pauses a second to let the silence flow over him – almost like a wave. He hears the clock against the wall clearly, proceeding the only sound that breaks the silence a little. Dean takes his broom and clenches his fists around it. The ticking is annoying. It reminds him of a time bomb.

He sighs. Maybe the clock’s not the time bomb, maybe _he_ is. He _thinks_ he is – he almost knows. He was a time bomb back in high school, waiting until he made a mistake and everyone would drop him, let him down. He was a time bomb with his family, waiting until his parents –or worse, Sam– would leave him. He’s a time bomb now, waiting until he screws up with Cas or at least loses contact with him.

Tonight is his last day of his so-called punishment. After that, it’s over and he’s free. He’ll have his car back, he can go back to working for Bobby, and can maybe apply for a job as a bartender, or something like that.

Almost coincidental, Castiel has finally gotten permission from his psychiatrist to leave soon, in two days, to be exact. So, the cage will open up for both of them, it seems, _and then what_? Will they see each other again? Will they cross paths or will it fade, like most of his friendships?

Truth is, Dean doesn’t want it to fade. Not with Castiel. Castiel soothed away what was toxic, soothed away thoughts of Sam and dad and everything that was bullshit, even though Dean has done nothing to deserve that. He hasn’t even touched a drink in three weeks, and he thinks Cas maybe has something to do with it. Not only him, obviously. As a janitor – or his help, at least – Dean’s met some great people who made him realize it could be worse. But Cas, though, Cas was special. He jumped out. Probably because he already knew him and saw how he changed.

They like each other’s company, that’s obvious, but will they still do so once the four Medford walls are gone and the fresh air is greeting them like a birthday present? He shakes the thought away and tries to shut the clock out.

_Tick_

But his last day is tomorrow.

_Tock_

And what will happen then?

_Tick_

Will you see him again?

_Tock_

He puts his earphones in and clenches his fists. Maybe it’s not the fact that tomorrow is getting closer that bothers him, maybe it’s the fact he actually cares enough to worry what will happen then.

:::

It's already getting dark outside when Dean is done. The sky is pink and white, mixed with stripes of yellow. He's sure Castiel would be in his room, drawing the sunset, by now. It's weird that by this time tomorrow, Dean won’t be here anymore.

He goes downstairs, to the reception desk. The last time.

"Mrs. Wallsch," he greets when he sees Hester behind the counter, struggling with some paperwork while she hums along with a song he recognizes as Blackbird by the Beatles. She looks up and smiles. "Dean! Are you here to sign out?"

He nods, glad she received the message. "Yeah, uh, if that's okay. I was told my last day was the second of April, so..."

"Indeed. Let me get you the papers. All you have left to do is deliver this…" She hands him a light blue sheet. "…to Viktor Henriksen at the office. It's a witness of good behavior, I think. I'm not sure, to be honest. Paperwork has never been my thing." She looks behind her and grabs a pile of thick-looking papers. She runs her hands over the top paper before starting to search through the next few sheets. Dean listens to her ramble about how they’re not used to people volunteering here; definitely not for punishment, but once she starts on not knowing how all the paperwork goes, he tunes her out, simply humming and nodding when it seems right.

Hester hands Dean another sheet and asks him for his signature, _here and there_ , and thanks him for his help while she puts it in a light green folder with his name on it. “I will deliver this to the office as soon as I can, but the blue sheet you can hand in yourself. I bet the officer will be proud you didn’t cause any trouble.”

“Yeah, I bet.” He can't stop himself from rolling his eyes, and she looks up at him fondly.

“Oh Dean, don’t be bitter. As soon as you walk out of these doors you won’t have to come back unless you want to.” Hester chuckles and winks, receiving a smile and shrug back from Dean.

He looks down at his watch. Half past six. Visiting hours start at seven and end nine-thirty. “Can I see Castiel, you know, before I go?” he asks. “I know he gets out as well, but, you know.” He finds himself stuttering a little, and wonders if Hester notices.

If she does, she doesn’t say anything about it. She looks at the clock and taps her feet. “Well, the patients are normally eating right now. Why don’t you wait a bit, until the visiting hours start?” Dean nods and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He has three missed calls from Jo. “Sure, Hester. I guess I’ll see you in a few then.”

Just as Dean is about to take a walk outside to call Jo back when Hester coughs. “You know what Dean, Castiel really opened up since you have walked into his life,” she bluntly announces before she goes back to her paperwork, as if nothing happened. Dean’s glad she doesn’t look at him anymore, because he can feel his neck reddening.

“I…I’m really happy to hear that,” he mutters before he walks up to the exit. While he’s at it, he is thinking that during these six weeks he might have misinterpreted her. Hester’s kindness goes beyond working hours. And maybe, maybe he also might have misinterpreted himself too – maybe his kindness goes beyond them as well.

He gets greeted by a cold breeze in the spring air on his cheek the moment he’s passed the metal detectors. Dean immediately reaches for a cigarette to keep him company.

He takes his phone out with his free hand and dials the number.

Dean rolls his eyes as his call gets answered on the third ring and gets greeted with a dry, “ _Losechester._ ”

“Thanks Jo. Why can’t you ever get me a normal nickname?”

"What are friends for?" she teases back, and he can picture her impish grin in his mind.

Dean exhales the smoke from his freshly lit cigarette and pinches the bridge of his nose, the Marlboro dangerously dangling between his fingers. “So, you want me to keep calling you, ah what was it, _Chesthairvelle_ , right? You want me to keep calling you that some more?”

The sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line makes him laugh. “Don’t you dare, Dean-o, I have baby pictures to blackmail you with!” Dean takes a long drag of his cigarette as he thinks of a comeback he can make. He shrugs to himself and replies casually. “Oh, do you? Because chances are I have some too, isn’t that right, Joanna?”

“Okay, okay. You win. Call me anything but just not – not Chesthairvelle, Dean. That’s gross.”

“Sure thing. Anyway, three missed calls?”

Jo clears her throat, and Dean thinks she might start a whole story about something that doesn’t matter until she asks “How is Castiel doing, Dean-o?”

“He’s fine, I think. Why?”

“What do you think will happen once you don’t have to do your thing at Medford tomorrow anymore?”

Dean swallows and bites his lip. “Don’t ask me that, Jo. Just don’t. Is this why you called me? _Three times?_ ”

He takes the fact there comes no answer as confirmation.

“He gets out as well, remember? We'll just…figure it out as we go, I guess… Remind me why I tell you these things in the first place?”

Because I’m your best friend – he can almost hear her think it. And indeed, not a moment later, there she goes.

“ _Because I’m your best friend, Dean_ ,” followed by a sigh. “Listen, I know you have a soft spot for him, I don’t know why that is but yeah, well. And oh, will you? Please, just – if you plan on keeping him around, be delicate with him. He’s had an influence on you I can’t describe, and I ain’t even seen him since we graduated. How you used to call me drunk every two nights, get in fights every now and then? It’s not… _you_ anymore, y’know? Hell, this guy’s like magic, so just be careful.”

“How do you know it’s him?”

“You’ve been talking about him every time we called in the past weeks. Cas does this, Cas would find that funny, Cas this, Cas that… Dean, _I know you_.”

“He may have had something to do with it, yeah. Why are you telling me this, Jo? Did you hear something from Anna? Something I need to know or something?”

The silence becomes uncomfortable after approximately ten seconds, and Dean hisses Jo’s name through the phone. “No, no! Okay yes but, it’s just- this guy has been through a lot and if he trusts you, you’re a keeper.”

“I don’t have time for this bullshit,” Dean mutters. He feels something boiling inside of him – a mix of anger and worry, he supposes. His thoughts almost run too fast, roam too loud to hear the next thing Jo says.

“Is it because of Sam?”

He freezes, and suddenly the air feels much colder. “Come again?”

“Is it because of S-”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Dean cuts her off. He clenches his phone in his fist, dropping his cigarette with the other. He puts a foot on it until it’s completely out and the heat that came from it is completely extinguished. “ _What the fuck_ , Jo? Sam has nothing to do with this, you hear me? If I’m such a _keeper_ ” –he spits it out, like it’s something dirty and sour—“then why hasn’t he talked to me in months? It’s not because dad thinks I’m worthless he has to think so, too! He knows what I did wasn’t on purpose!”

He ignores the twist in his stomach. Maybe deep down he knows Sam has to do something with it. Maybe he did approach Cas because he wanted to find comfort in something, in _someone_. Maybe it was guilt for being a dick to him. He can’t wrap his head around it, but he knows he doesn’t want to lose Cas.

Jo hisses something back, and Dean swears he can feel his blood flow through his ears. “Listen to me, Winchester. I’m trying to help you here so calm the fuck down. What you did wasn’t your fault, I _know_ that, I was practically there. But you need to man up and talk to your brother, you hear me? What I’m trying to say is that Castiel and Sam are much alike, hell man, they were _friends_! You care for them but you don’t show it.”

“And?”

Jo grunts. “Show them.”

With that, the phone clicks and the line goes dead.

Dean sighs and rubs his chin, pressing his eyes shut. He checks his watch, sees it’s almost seven, and heads upstairs.

Castiel’s already back in his room by the time Dean knocks softly on the door. He’s drawing, and Dean smiles at how peaceful he sits there. Castiel looks up, smile on his face. That smile fades exactly the moment he sees Dean’s face – and the sour feeling dancing across it.

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

"It's nothing." Dean wanders over to the windowsill and sits down, crossing his arms once he does so.

" _Nothing_? You're upset," Castiel puts the notebook away, and flips his legs off the bed. "So tell me."

"Leave it, Cas, it's not important," Dean mutters. His eyes drift off to somewhere else in the room, as long as he doesn't have to meet Castiel's gaze. He doesn't want to bother the guy, since he probably doesn't want to see Dean anymore after this is over. "If it bothers you, then it _is_ important," Castiel mutters, but Dean doesn't answer. He just presses his lips into a thin line.

How dare Jo? How dare she get involved in this situation and tell him how to feel? She means best, she always does - but too much is too much. He'll call her back later, when he's cooled off a bit. To say he is furious would be a lie, because he’s not -- just a bit upset, at least. He is used to avoiding problems as long as it takes for them to disappear, and he’s upset about the fact that she has a goddamn point. But Jo is Jo and she is impulsive and caring and wants to see problems being solved as soon as possible. Honestly, she’ll stop at nothing.

They sit in silence for a while, their gazes finally meeting.

Being in the room with Castiel used to calm him down, because he didn't feel pressured to speak. Silences were always comfortable, but now he feels like he has to say something. It’s like he’s back to those first few weeks, where Dean wondered why the boy in front of him wouldn’t talk to him like another person would. It changed, of course – Cas opened up gradually, like a delicate flower does in springtime. To this day, it remains an unsolved mystery why they are where they are today, why they talk like they talk, why they have encounters like these.

It doesn’t take long before Dean feels obliged to say something, anything, but the words don't come. It's Cas, however, who breaks the silence.

“When I was younger and I was upset or scared, my mother used to tell me stories about the sun and the moon,” Cas says out of the blue, “You see, the sun was strong, and still shone through the clouds. Whilst the moon couldn't shine without the sun. When the moon was upset, or sad, it would hide. You couldn't see it, or only half of it. The moon would hide away from the sun, so the sun couldn't give it it’s light. When it did, the sun couldn't find it in the darkness, no matter how far it reached out."

"That is really, uh, sad. Cas, why are you telling me this?" Dean wriggles his eyebrows in question. The story sounds familiar, maybe like something his mom would have told him too.

Castiel scratches his chin before looking at him. "Because right now you are the moon and I am asking you to be the sun. I _know_ what it is like to be the moon, I know how it feels to be sad and upset and to hide away from stuff. Dean, I have known for years. Now tell me, what's wrong?"

Dean shrugs and gets up, his feet guiding him while he paces through the room. "It's not a big deal, honestly. It's fine."

"You're hiding. And if it upsets you, it is a big deal. You know, asking for help doesn’t make you weak."

Dean unknowingly bites his lip. “I’m not asking for help.”

He thinks about how much things have changed over the past six weeks and suddenly he feels bitter. They started out as nothing and gradually became whatever _this_ is, but right now he feels like he’s back to the acquaintance dynamic they had when they were young and Sam was still in the picture. He doesn’t want that to happen. "Do you wanna know why I'm upset, Cas?"

The younger boy glances at Dean. The blue of his eyes seems dark in the dusk.

He thinks about how the moon is rising and he wonders if she will hide herself tonight. He wonders if he will, too. It almost makes him feel petulant, because Dean Winchester doesn't hide. He was used to speaking his mind whenever he wanted about whatever he wanted. He spoke whenever he wanted to speak, and he did because he could. Then, he graduated and shit went down so he moved out and gave up on college and well...

Now he is here and it's not the same.

But then again neither are things with Cas.

"Tell me."

"It's about you."

Castiel squints. "Did I do something upset you?" Worry haunts his voice for a second and Dean rapidly rushes in for an answer.

"No, no, damn Cas. No. It's just my friend Jo – you know her, right? She brought some stuff up earlier and...what's gonna happen after tonight? After we don't have to be here anymore. Will you see me?" It comes out in one breath, and Dean presses his eyes shut.

"Do you want me to see you?" Castiel whispers, getting up and walking towards Dean. The room is fully dark now, the only lights being provided from the streetlights outside. His eyes look almost black, and Dean hurries over to the nightstand, where he flicks the light on. He turns around, biting his lip. "Of course. I- I just, you're a good friend, Cas."

Castiel smiles. "You called me Cas?"

He feels himself going red, "Y-yeah, it's a nickname."

Cas pauses for a moment, before saying quietly, "I like it. Gabriel calls me Cassie, which is a lot less fun, if you ask me."

Dean laughs. "Cassie, huh?"

Castiel raises his arms and pushes him lightly. "Don't do that!" He could have been serious, but his smile is wide.

“You should call him Gabriella, then,” Dean starts, and with that the topic is officially off the road for a while. Dean seats himself on the empty bed next to Cas’, relaxing. They chatter about nicknames for a while – Cas needs at least two minutes to recover from the _whinechester versus chesthairvelle_ -comment. They both carefully avoid talking about closer family members, such as parents and siblings, and it goes well like that.

Cas asks him about cars, about driving them, and tells Dean he doesn’t even have a license. Dean asks him about his profound love for The Beatles, rolling his eyes when the other boy says that _Led Zeppelin is nothing compared to them_ , with a smirk on his face.

“You seem happy,” Dean notes, soft smile playing on his lips.

Cas blinks a few times before replying. “I don’t know. I think I’m just happy with the good company and the fact I’ll be leaving in two days, I guess.”

Dean nods and they stare at each other. He wants to avert his gaze after about ten seconds, but he find out he can’t. In that moment he wishes he had known Cas better from way before. Of course, Dean is more than okay with what they have now, no matter how fucked up that seems. He sometimes just wishes he knew the other layers of Cas’ – the deeper ones. He wants to know why Cas is here, because hey, six weeks and not a word about any reason whatsoever. Then again, Cas doesn’t know why Dean is here, either. Not really.

The silence remains until there is a knock on the door. 

It's Hester. "Castiel, Dean, visiting hours are almost over," she says, before smiling politely and shutting the door with a soft click.

Dean gets up from the empty bed. He sees the print of his butt in the mattress and almost laughs at that. Memory foam.

"So, Cas, guess this is it, right?" He walks up to the younger boy and pulls him into a hug. He feels how he tenses at first, and an awkward feeling hangs in the air for a second. Cas doesn't hug him back at first, but Dean feels how his shoulders gradually relax. He wraps his arms loosely around Dean's waist and presses himself close for a second before they let go. "I'll see you around”

And right there and then, it’s a promise.


	5. Lover is Childlike

To say that Castiel is baffled when a 67' Chevrolet Impala rolls up in from of the institution would be an understatement. He is even more baffled when he sees who's driving the car. _Dean_. He knew Dean had a weak spot for cars, but to actually drive a car like _this_ – no, he never expected that.

The boy rolls his window down, shouting over roar of the engine. "You free today, Cas?"

Castiel rolls his eyes and smiles.

“No, seriously. I mean – nobody picking you up?”

Castiel looks down to his feet for a moment. “Nope. Anna and Gabe both have really busy jobs, they really wanted to come and get me today, but their bosses wouldn’t give them a day off. I told them it was fine – but they promised we’re all gonna be spending the day together tomorrow.”

Dean taps the steering wheel. “What about your dad?”

Cas shakes his head, but says nothing.

When he woke up and saw his bag all packed by the doorway, he had hoped that today would be a good day. He's feeling okay now, and he can go home--well, Gabriel's place isn't really home, but it's something- and now Dean stops by to ask him if he's free today, something of which he knows he is. Yeah, today he might be good.

He was actually planning on going to his new home and watch tv all day, maybe unpack the few belongings he has as well, since he’ll be staying for a while.

“So you’re not really busy today?”

Cas shakes his head, smiling this time. He sees how Dean's eyes twinkle at the sight of him and walks towards the car, his backpack slung over his shoulder. "What do you want, Dean?" Castiel tries to sound unimpressed, but amusement drips through his voice.

"I don't know, actually. I’ve handed in my papers down by the police office yesterday, and well, I got my baby!” He pats the steering wheel. “I wanted to take you somewhere. Let's go on an adventure." For the first time in a while, Dean seems nervous.

"An adventure?" Cas raises an eyebrow, but takes three more steps to the car now.  He grabs the door handle and pulls it. Immediately, the smell of cigarettes and leather burns in his nose. He squints.

"So, you coming or what?"

Cas shakes his head. "How about you park the car and we walk somewhere? We can go road tripping some other time."

Dean's eyes seem to lighten up at the words _'some other time'_ , and for a moment he swears there's something flashing across his face. Surprise, excitement, maybe relief.

"Sure, gimme a second." And Dean drives away, only to come running back approximately three minutes later. He waves with the car keys before putting them in his pocket.

"Nice car you have there," Cas remarks. It's true, the younger boy always had a fascination with cars, even from when he was little. He never really occupied himself with them, since it wasn't for 'educational purposes', as his father would call it. Cas feels bitter when he thinks about his father, but the feeling disappears when Dean grins at him. "Hey, thanks! I call her my baby, in case you didn’t figure" he says before adding, "Don't even ask."

It's quiet for a second and the two boys just stare at each other. Castiel looks at Dean _, really_ looks at him. Now that they're outside, his eyes shine brighter. They're greener, with splatters of yellow mixed among it. His freckles stand out more - proof that summer's approaching.

 Dean blinks and raises his eyebrows when he catches the younger boy staring. "Where do you wanna go?" Dean asks, and Cas notices that it's because he is trying to hide the fact his neck becomes more red. "Let's just take a walk, we'll see what we'll come across. I haven’t been outside for a while, so…"

Dean nods and smiles, his hand reaching out to Cas' for a second before changing his mind and pulling it back.

They walk around for a while, their conversations usually fading into a comfortable silence. Dean seems as happy as Cas feels, which is great.

 _Today_ , he thinks, _today all will be well._

:::

"What you're trying to say is that Anna once almost punched you because you called her your special red-headed friend?" Cas almost snorts as he hears it.

"Yeah well, I actually said pretty _and_ special red-head but whatever," Dean objects, sipping from his coffee, grin barely visible behind the cup. They're in Biggerson's, stopping for lunch, after walking around for a while in the silence of the Portland suburbs. The sun is high up the sky and here, behind the widow, it's very warm. Dean had needed at least five minutes to get his jacket off once inside – regarding the fact he had to pick the right jacket, since he was wearing like six layers of clothing. _"You were born in the wrong state!"_ Cas had exclaimed whilst laughing at Dean.

"Actually, I'm from Kansas," Dean had replied, and that's how it had started.

It has been a while since Castiel was outside, and the fresh breeze this morning welcomed him well. Last night he had watched the moon, barely having been able to fall asleep. He had thought of Dean and Rachel. Not sure why Dean had been roaming his thoughts, but he figures it had something to do with the moon – full and bright and white in the night sky. _Visible; not hiding_.

Now the boy is sitting in front of him in a coffee shop, telling stories and cracking jokes and buying him a black coffee with tons of sugar accompanied by a squint of his eyes and a ' _Seriously, are you trying to give yourself diabetes or something? Really, Cas?_ '

Castiel feels free, like a bird who’s managed to escape from his cage. He feels like he’s on top of the world. He knows it’s a feeling of euphoria that won’t last, because it cannot be sunny forever. Either way, he enjoys it while it lasts. With Dean.

Dean’s been kind towards him, kinder than he lets other people be. Whenever the boy looks at him, eyes green and freckles outshining on his nose, lips curled into a shy smile, Cas feels like growing wings and taking him away. Just the two of them together. He knows Dean’s been through more crap than he acknowledges – Cas knows enough people like that, himself included. Being at the ward in Medford, daily sitting on the same spot in the corridor or the common room, waiting, for what? It let him see more and learn more about people. People are layers, layers and more layers. Layers of feelings, secrets, and memories hidden far away. It is an art to get to see through those layers, especially when said layers aren’t your own.

He doesn’t know what the thing with Dean is, but his shoulders slump when he thinks no one can see him, his eyes stand on eternally sad and eternally broken. Castiel sees part of him in Dean, which isn’t a good sign.

It had felt weird, yesterday. Waking up and knowing Dean won’t be humming Metallica a few corridors away. It had been a good day, though. Cas had been able to draw more sketches of the patients he had started to see as friends, almost. They were so nice, as per usual. When he came back from his last counseling session with Dr. Cartwright, even Benny had stopped him in his tracks and grabbed him gently by the shoulders. “ _Proud of ya, man_ ” he had said in his not-to-be-mistaken Western accent.

Erica had asked him about Dean as well, yesterday right before he walked out the door to retreat back to his room. “I hope you get to see him after you have both made your leave.”

Truth is, Cas _likes_ Dean, probably way more than he should.

Not in that way though, or so he thinks. He can’t help it that he feels warm when the boy puts a hand on his shoulder, or buys him coffee, or is just _there_. He doesn’t know what this is, since he’s never felt it because no one has ever treated him like that. Not even Crowley.

Crowley. Why does his name always needs to pop up in his thoughts? It’s not fair, so not fair. It’s far from fair, actually. Except for Rachel, Castiel didn’t really have anyone except for him. They had kissed and they had touched, and Cas' first experience with a blow job was with him, once. Without feelings, he supposes.

Turns out that Crowley was not seeking romance, certainly not from guys like Cas. Maybe they were oblivious, maybe not – but Cas started feeling things he wasn’t ever supposed to feel. And then Rachel died and Crowley had just dropped him like a brick when he needed him most. The last words exchanged between them were “ _This is your fault, all of it. Can’t you see that, Castiel_?”

Cas wakes up from his thoughts the moment Dean nudges his leg with his feet. “Cas, you alright? You seemed…gone.”

The boy looks at him hopefully, a hint of concern dancing on his face. Castiel just shrugs, “Just thinking.”

He quickly takes a sip from his coffee, hoping the sweetness it contains vanishes the taste of Crowley. It’s too hot and he almost spits it out, coughing a few times to clear his throat.

“About what?”

Castiel thinks about it before he replies. He feels the need to pick his words carefully, even though he isn’t sure why. “My ex. It’s no big deal.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “The British kid you always hung out with?” He nods, followed by a shrug. “Ah, sorry but he’s a creep, Cas. You deserve better.”

Castiel just knits his eyebrows together and shr-gs again. Dean kicks him softly under the table once more, “It’s over now, so, guess you realize it as well.”

After the cup of coffee, Castiel decides he better avoids drinking too much of it and goes for tea. It's generally known that too much caffeine keeps you awake at night and lying awake at night isn't an option anymore now. At least not for the next few weeks, considering he's gonna be staying at Gabe's place for a while. His cousin may seem like one big comedian who doesn't care about anything, but the moment something's wrong with the people he loves he won't hesitate to look out for them like a hawk. Fortunately, Gabriel travels a lot for his job, so Castiel won't be under his wing for too long. A few weeks, at best. It’s a good thing Gabe keeps track of his sleeping pills. Not that he’d ever try anything like that again. Cas will never forget the faces of Anna and Gabe when they stood next to him as he woke up in the hospital. They were both looking pale, their eyes tired from the lack of sleep they’d gotten. Cas had been unconscious for  a while, and his stomach had to be pumped from the overdose. Anna had held his hand once she and Gabriel had been allowed to visit, and the three of them had cried together for hours. He never wants to put his family through that again.

He can’t be bothered about his dad, since he’s the one who partly caused this, but his cousins? Cas doesn’t want to hurt them.

But just in case, Gabe has told him he’ll lock the stash of pills and give him his meds when he needs them.

The fact that the coffee shop serves food turns out to be a blessing. The two boys don't move from their spot at the window for another hour or two, unless it's to go to the bathroom or order something to eat or drink. Cas quickly learns that Dean is head-over-heels into pie. Damn, this boy can eat. "Guess it's a family thing," Dean admits when he comes back with a third slice, earning an impressed but yet shocked look from Cas. His tone is happy first, but seems to become bitter at the word " _family_ ". Castiel wonders why but doesn’t dare asking.

It's then he realizes that he doesn't really know much about Dean, and to be honest, neither does Dean about him. All they've been talking about the past few weeks were...what, actually? The weather, people at Medford, Music, Cars, Dean's work - well, the whining-about-actually-having-to-do-it-part. Nothing too personal, nothing that can hit too close to home.

Castiel decides to change that. He picks up the courage to actually ask. "So, tell me about yourself," the younger boy says promptly.

Dean almost chokes on his pie. "What?"

"Tell. Me. About. Yourself."

Dean knits his eyebrows together as he thinks. He chews on his lip for a minute before saying he doesn't really have anything interesting to tell about himself. “This sound like a date,” he adds, face red as he says it.

Cas just ignores it, ignores the fact he’s becoming red, too. "There must be something, Dean. I mean, for instance, Sam’s your brother. How is he? Or, just, I don’t know...something, I don't know. I just want to get to know you better."

Dean shrugs and his tone face a whole new level of bitter at the mention of Sam's name. That, mixed with grief. "I don't really know a lot about you either, now do I?"

Smart move, Castiel must admit it. Bouncing the ball back to him. "Let's play a game. I tell something about myself, and so do you,"

The younger boy should know it isn't a good idea, but he lets it be. Dean's the first person since Rachel that's genuinely nice to him. "I'll start."

Dean shrugs, "Fine."

"My name is Castiel Novak." He sees Dean almost roll his eyes. Almost.

"Dean Winchester."

"I'm nineteen and I've just finished high school last year. I should be going to college but dropped out and ended up in Medford. I still hope of going next year, though."

Dean's expression becomes genuinely curious. "What are you planning to do?"

"Art school, but I didn't get accepted because my drawings didn't contain enough, uh, life. I'm gonna apply for engineering."

"Cool."

Castiel squints. It isn’t cool. He wants to do art, really, really wants to – but well, life is life and life is unfair. "Your turn."

"Ok, I'm twenty-one. Graduated. I attempted college but I dropped out after some shit with my family."

Castiel sighs. Family trouble.

“Sammy and I don’t talk anymore,” Dean says promptly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Didn’t talk for about a year.”

“I’m…wow, Dean, why?”

Dean shrugs. “Had a fight with my dad, brought some stuff up about Sam too and well yeah, he’s off to god-knows-where now, studying, I suppose. He owes it to me, dammit, and he doesn’t even _talk_ to me.” The boy sounds upset, and Castiel reaches out for his hand. He places it softly on Dean’s and squeezes it for a second before realizing the gesture may be awkward. He pulls back.

“You should talk to him, Dean. Others don’t have the chance to anymore,” Cas mutters, averting his eyes already. He knows Dean will look up and question will dominate his face. He doesn’t want it.

When he does look at Dean, he sees the boy is biting his lip. “Cas, are you, did you…” his voice trails off.

Castiel shrugs. “It is not of import,” he says, also known as I _don’t want to talk about it, not now_. Dean seems to understand, because he doesn’t ask further and quickly changes the subject to something else.

They keep stating little facts about one another for quite some time. It may seem dumb, but they learn a lot about each other. They make their own tiny book of tiny stories.

Castiel learns that Dean once got lost a shoe while running in a forest when he was very young, something he mourned about for about three days. Dean learns that Castiel often gets told that he looks like “ _the guy from the Percy Jackson movie_ ” by complete strangers and that he hates it when that happens. They talk about movies, as well. A topic they surprisingly didn’t talk about at Medford. Dean likes Star Trek, and he promises that he’ll get Castiel into it, one day. One day.

When Dean embarrassingly talks about how his favorite childhood movie used to be The Wizard of Oz, Castiel feels like shrinking.

“I never really had a childhood,” he states, tone bitter.

“You didn’t?” Dean sounds surprised. All he probably remembers from Castiel was ho he sometimes used to play with Sam when they were younger. “How come?” he adds, his voice soft and tender.

“Family trouble, to be honest. It’s a long story and it doesn’t matter.”

Dean just nods and looks outside. It’s quiet for a moment before Cas decides he can tell Dean at least this. “When I was younger,” he sighs, “I used to sneak out to the playground near our house and draw in the sand. I built sandcastles, too. I always did until my father came to find me. He kicked at the sand, making the castles I built collapse, making the drawing vanish. He told me to stop dreaming, then he dragged me home and kept me there until I snuck out again.”

He expects a lot of reactions, but not the one Dean gives him. His eyes widen and he promptly gets up, taking his wallet out and throwing a few bills on the table. Castiel thinks he’s about to storm out, maybe Cas upset him? He doesn’t storm out, though. Instead, he stretches his hand out towards Castiel. “Join me, I have an idea.”

Castiel takes it, and so they wander out of the coffee shop and onto the street.

Dean guides him towards the park, through path between a few trees that’s flooded with sunlight. The trees provide enough shadow towards further into the forest to make Castiel feel like he’s in the first five minutes of some creepy tv show. Dean doesn’t say anything during their walk, only that it's only a short walk and they'll be there soon. Also that it happened by impulse and Cas should just tell him if it isn’t okay.

The younger boy is surprised when he sees a playground appear behind the trees. The playground is empty, even though it's a Saturday and the weather's fairly good. It is windy, but bearable. "Dean, what are we doing here?"

"We're gonna live your childhood."

:::

Other people may think it's childish, dumb. Castiel, however, has the time of his life. He feels five again, throwing sand in Dean's direction. Dean laughing and tackling Cas, Castiel finding a ball in the bushes and kicking it a Dean.

They play soccer for a while, after Dean buys him ice cream. Dean turns out being the worst keeper in the history of keepers. Castiel turns out being fairly good as juggling the ball. Their little game ends when Castiel kicks the ball back into the bushes, towards a point he can't find it anymore. He receives a " _dammit Cas_!" and a pat on the back from Dean in return.

Today is a good day.

Cas doesn't really know what's happening, but he enjoys it while it lasts. He feels like waking up for the first time, seeing the world for the first time.

They end up on the swings set, one way or another. It creaks dangerously as they sit on it, but Dean pushes off and starts rocking his swing back and forth. In no time, he's fully off the ground. Cas hears him laugh and he can't help but smile. He wants to see Dean like this all the time, every day. He thinks that maybe, he can.

He swallows, suddenly a bitter taste in his mouth. What if he screws up again? What if Dean finally realizes that Castiel isn't the happy, sweet guy Dean may think he is?

Then again, sure the other boy has seen parts of him before that weren’t clean. He’s seen Cas in Medford, but he hasn’t seen the worst. Not yet.

Dean suddenly places his feet on the ground again, a loud thump in the sand. His swing comes to an abrupt stop as he looks at Cas with a questioning look in his eyes. His freckles are clearly visible in the sunlight and Castiel swears Dean has more than when they met six weeks ago.

“Okay man, tell me what’s bothering you, _we_ can’t have fun if _you_ ’re not having fun.”

Castiel smirks. “I am having fun! I was just, uh, thinking.”

“Thinking? About wh-” Dean stops and sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask, it’s not my business.”

The younger boy shakes his head. “No, no. I want to tell. I want to be honest, let you in.”

Dean smiles and stretches his hand out and takes Cas’. He squeezes it lightly before letting go again. If Castiel isn’t mistaking himself, Dean’s neck becomes red, and so his cheeks and ears follow.

“Do you want to know why I was in Medford, Dean?”

The older boy sighs. “I don’t know, to be honest. I just- I don’t want to, like, trigger you or something. Wasn’t Medford supposed to be place where you let part of yourself behind?”

“I try. But those memories are like parasites.” It’s true, because out of all the things Castiel has lost, the memories of Rachel weren’t among them. It was a pity.

“Just, tell me to stop talking and I will stop talking. Please just tell me and I will stop.”

Dean nods, lips pressed together. Castiel thinks about shrugging and saying it doesn’t matter, pulling back out of this story he’s about to tell. What if he starts to cry? _Novaks don’t cry_.

Well, fuck the Novak terms.

“A few months ago, my…” he swallows, “my sister died.”

Dean takes a sharp breath, but before he can reply Castiel adds, “it was the…uh…the crash near Riverside Avenue. It was all over the news.”

“Fuck,” Dean whispers. The older boy presses his eyes shut. “Fuck! Cas, that was – that was you?”

He doesn’t say anything, just nods. His eyes sting with tears and he bites his lip, focusing on the press of his teeth on them. It hurts after a while, and the tears seem to disappear as he breathes in and out, trying to steady the breathing. When he finally disconnects his teeth from his bottom lip, he has the iron taste of blood in his mouth. Great, now his mouth tastes like the accident, too.

“It’s my fault,” he says, shrugging, like it's no big deal, like the thought doesn't plague him every single day. But then the tears come all at once, like a waterfall. All it needed was a deep inhale and the word ‘fault’. That was enough, that was the final drop. He lets the memories wash over him like a wave.

_Novaks do not cry Novaks do not cry..._

_NOVAKS DO NOT CRY, CASTIEL._

Novaks do cry, in fact. Whimper and howl and sob, as it turns out. Cas promised himself he wouldn’t cry in front of anybody if that anybody wasn’t Rachel, and yet he broke his promise. For Dean.

Dean gets up –practically jumps up— from his swing and places himself behind Cas’ swing. The younger boy feels two steady hands on his back, touching him slightly as they rub in circles. “Cas, Cas, it’s okay now, I’m here. Let it all out.” 

Dean keeps rubbing circles on his back and Castiel calms down a bit. He stops, then, and walks around the swing to meet Cas’ face. He pulls Cas’ up and once they’re both standing he takes Cas’ hands in his own.

 _They’re soft,_ Cas notes through the buzzing in his head, _soft and warm._

Dean’s thumbs rub slow circles over Cas’ hand, making him shiver and close his eyes. It’s too much at once, and Cas still can’t control himself.

Dean leans in, then, wraps his arms around Cas’ waist. The other boy drops his face in Dean’s shoulders. The smell of detergent and mint crawl into Cas’ nose, and he inhales deeply.

His breathing steadies after about ten minutes, the tears stop after about twenty. Dean doesn’t stop tracing his hands up and down his spine. It feels good, like coming home.

"You calm?" Dean asks at last, his movements slow.

Castiel doesn't know what to answer. He's just confused and he wants to have the feeling again he had earlier today, those feelings of elation, of freedom. His heart is still beating rapidly in his chest and he feels like there's a wall closing in on him somewhere. He nods anyway.

"Good, good. I'm here okay, it's gonna be okay," Dean whispers into his hair. He withdraws his hands from Cas’ back and he feels the urge to shiver. The warmth is gone and in all honesty, Cas really liked having Dean's hands touching him. His hands could bruise, he already knew that, but he didn't know they could heal too.

"Can we do something, I...I don't want to think about all of this, just for a while?" Cas asks and Dean nods.

“What do you want to do?”

He pauses, as the idea filters through his mind. “Dean, you’re twenty-one, right?” he asks. The older boy nods. “Then how about we take a visit to the liquor store?”

Dean seems to consider the notion before finally shrugging. “Sure. Sounds like an idea.”

:::

This wasn’t a good idea.

_“J’sus Christ, Dean, this wasn’t a good idea.”_

Or maybe it is. He's not quite drunk yet right now, but he feels good, in a weird way. He can feel the memories of Rachel, of Medford and the scars on his body slipping away, and maybe it's sad he has to wash all of them away with alcohol, but what else is there? Besides, it's just once, and Dean is here with him. He's safe.

Dean’s not very drunk either. He’s just more open than usual. “I haven’t touched a drink in a while and you come along and ruin it,” Dean whistles, but grins nonetheless.

It’s getting late, Cas notices from the pink and white stripes forming themselves in the sky. This would be a beautiful drawing, he thinks. Dean’s silhouette, dark against the sky behind him. The trees also becoming black lines in the distance. Dean’s eyelashes, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips and his hair sticking out here and there. Then there’s the sun, all the way in the center, completing everything. He sees it like it’s a drawing, but it’s real life. It’s real and he is here and so is Dean.

It's unbelievable, that Dean would be here beside him right now. Good things have never gotten in the habit of happening to him.

“I could just draw this right here, right now,” Castiel hears himself say, his head beginning to feel like its been stuffed with cotton.

Dean smiles. "What's stopping you?" He does a weird thing with his face and Castiel almost spits out the drink he was taking.

"You are," Castiel replies, taking another swing.

Dean raises his eyebrow, dramatically pointing at his chest. "Me?"

"No, the other Dean," Castiel remarks sarcastically. He feels how his words are beginning to slur and he's debating whether to stop or keep drinking.

Dean laughs, an actual laugh. "You can draw me another time, then. Let's take a walk."

So they do, the two boys walking next to each other, not saying anything. They leave the empty bottle behind and head through the bushes, back to the playground.

Something’s changed between them since earlier. Something’s changed since the beginning of his service, that was clear enough – they became friends, Dean and him. But now, it’s even weirder, more complicated. When he felt Dean’s warm, strong hands around his waist earlier, he didn’t want it to stop. He didn’t want to lose that warmth.

It’s a strange feeling, the feeling of needing of _someone._ He shakes it off.

They stop in the middle of the open space and both just stand there. The sun's almost down and the pink and yellow of the sky is beginning to get dark blue. Dean shivers.

"Are you feeling cold?" Cas asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Of course I am, it cools down once the sun sets," Dean answers. He reaches his hand out towards Castiel and grabs the drawstrings of his hoodie. He absently fumbles with them for a while, before muttering, "You obviously wouldn't get cold with something nice 'n cozy like that."

Castiel laughs, really laughs, and Dean looks up and meets the his eyes, holding his gaze for a moment. His hands stop fumbling with the strings, but clench them instead. It is then that Castiel realizes how close they're standing and he's glad it's almost too dark already to see how red his face becomes.

"I could kiss you right now," Dean mutters, still not averting his eyes.

"What's stopping you?" Castiel bounces back and something deep inside him starts screaming _NO_ , really loud, really clear. He feels like he should have just smiled and broken the eye contact. He doesn’t though, and he curses himself for not doing so. Truth is, Cas doesn’t know what he wants. He likes Dean, or so he thinks – but the more he thinks about it, the more scared he gets. He doesn’t wanna get hurt.

Instead of moving away, he stills.

Dean frowns for a second, like he's in deep thought. He licks his lips. "What's stopping me? I don't, I don't know. Nothing, I guess," the older boy mutters and he pulls at the drawstrings, bringing Castiel's face towards his own.

It's happening, oh god, _it's happening_.

Castiel feels how his lips get joined by Dean's and suddenly, they're kissing. They're kissing and Dean is still grabbing at the drawstrings and Cas is so shocked he keeps his eyes open at first but then remembers he's supposed to close them. They're kissing and it's warm and nice and everything fades for a brief moment. All the doubts he had a second before fade when he feels how Dean's tongue slides against his lower lip and Cas willingly opens up.

Castiel doesn't know what to do with his hands, what should he be doing? He wraps them around the small of Dean's back, lifts them away, places them back. He's over-thinking, he knows that he’s doing it and he shouldn’t when he should be enjoying it. It's been so long since he's been kissed, and the gentle intimacy should feel good. Perhaps a small part of him thinks it does, but it's too much. The fuzziness in his head drops away and he's left feeling utterly and completely sober. The thoughts come back, crashing over him.

He opens his eyes again, drops his arms, and tears his lips away from Dean's. He hears Dean's gasp of surprise and feels Dean's hand drop quickly from his sweatshirt.

"You shouldn't have done that," he whispers, taking a step back.

In the half light, he watches Dean bite his lip, pained expression on his face. "Was I…did I… _I’m_ …”

It’s silent for a second before Dean continues, “I just wanted you to be okay.”

Castiel raises his hands, spits out, “Oh yeah! Kissing me is suddenly gonna solve every problem I’ve ever had? Dean, it doesn’t work like that!” _Sure,_ perhaps for a moment it felt nice, Dean so close to him, but he needs Dean to know that this isn’t how it goes. One person can’t make a difference in a life screwed up by dozens of them. He shakes his head slowly, waits warily for Dean's reaction.

He thought he wanted this – and he did, he thinks. At least, until the thoughts came up and everything went to shit.

“I made a mistake," Dean says at last, and Cas shakes his head,  balls his fists.

"No, no…well, yes, you did," Castiel tells him, voice shaking, "It's just--I can't, Dean, I can't…get…hurt." The last word comes out a whisper, and he stares down to the ground, unable to meet Dean's eyes. Getting hurt, isn't that the whole point?

"I'm sorry," he hears Dean whisper and suddenly Cas feels too tired to go on.

"Can we go back to the car? I left my backpack in the trunk."

"Let me give you a ride home, at least," Dean says, voice rushed and apologetic and Castiel thinks he should feel a pang of guilt in his chest, but he feels nothing. He's empty.

Castiel shakes his head. “No, it’s, it’s okay,” he whispers and he turns around, heading in the direction of the institute, where Dean's car is still parked. Dean follows a little after him, not speaking. 

He find the car easily on the empty parking lot of Medford, and despite his thick hoodie, he shivers. Dean catches up on him after about thirty seconds. He opens the door for Castiel. “Please, please get in. Please let me talk to you.”

Castiel bites his lip, and after a minute, he shrugs. “Fine,” he responds, and gets in. He isn't sure he has the energy to walk anyways.

But they don’t talk at all, the entire drive to Gabriel's place, except for Cas giving Dean some perfunctory directions. They pull up on the front door after fifteen minutes and Castiel looks at the clock. 8:50pm. He starts to put his hand on the door, but Dean clears his throat and Cas pauses, waits for him to speak.

8.55pm.

He sighs.

8.57pm.

Dean turns to him, stares at him.

8.59pm.

“I said I was sorry, but I’m not. Well, not about the fact I kissed you. I am sorry about making you feel sad about it.”

Castiel shrugs. “I’m sad most of the time.”

Dean reaches out to him and Castiel backs away, out of reach. “The only person I’ve ever been really close to was my sister, and she’s gone. It’s my fault. I know it is, and I will never forgive myself for it,” the words come out in one breath and now that he’s started, he can’t stop, “it’s the past, but I can’t let it rest. Dean, look, I thought you were my friend but now I’m just confused. I- I can’t get attached to you, I won’t let myself fall in love with you. I can’t afford to get hurt by someone I care about.”

Before Dean is able to reply, Castiel opens the door, takes his backpack and gets out. He fishes for the apartment key in his bag and walks up to the front door. He turns around once more before walking in.

He looks out of one of the corridor’s windows and waits there. He still sees the Impala parked in front of the building. He can faintly see Dean clench and unclench his fists around the steering wheel. For a moment, Cas is convinced he will get out and ring the doorbell of the apartment, asking Castiel to come back.

He sees Dean turning the ignition and the Impala growls to life.

The car drives away. Out of the parking spot, out of the street, then out of sight.

Out of Cas’ life.

He  barely makes it to Gabriel’s door.

“I’m home!” he yells, once the door is open. He gets greeted by silence. “Of course Gabe, you’re not.”

There’s a piece of paper on the table.

_“Cassie, welcome home._

_I’m sorry – work’s a bitch. I’ll be back around 10.30 tonight._

_I’ll bring dinner along._

_\-- Gabe.”_

He clenches the sheet in his fist before collapsing on the floor. Letting the tears finally come.

Tears for Rachel, tears for feeling empty, tears for coming home.

Tears for letting go of Dean.

Tears for everything, because it turns out Novaks really do cry. 


	6. Goodbye, stranger

It is a warm morning, July 3rd, actually, when Dean finds himself walking. His feet are dragging themselves towards a point he doesn't know yet, like a magnet. There's a welcoming breeze in the pressing heat the sun is giving the earth today. It's soft on his cheeks, and he closes his eyes when he feels it coming up - letting himself get covered in it. His feet keep moving whatsoever. He notices he is about to pass Biggerson's - Castiel's favorite coffee shop. Castiel. Cas.  It’s been three months.

He lights up a cigarette.

He bites his lip between inhaling and exhaling, looking at the other side of the street, where he can see the Medford Institute rise up above the trees and the houses. If he recalls correctly, he's about one mile away from it. Medford, and all its memories, feels like a distant place. For Dean, it has become a place where he buried a part of himself, where he left behind his high school badass image thanks to one person, and that person has just crossed his mind again. Cas. Dean hasn't seen him since the day of their kiss on the playground, hasn't spoken to him either. He tried texting, sent him about fifty text messages the first days alone. _"I'm sorry" "Cas" "you might think it was a mistake but I don't think it was" "talk to me"_

Cas never replied. They never saw each other again.

It gives Dean a feeling of melancholy just thinking about it. Back at Medford, he tried rebuilding his life, fixing things. He wanted to start with Cas, and he just bailed. Sure, he’s made a mistake, but still. It’s just not fair.

When Dean came home that night, after dropping off Cas – he sat down on the couch, with a bottle of whiskey in his hands. He was so angry, so alone in the dark. He needed Cas, he had realized. He needed Cas because Cas became so important to him over those weeks, and seeing how bad it could get really gave him a grip on reality. It made him try to stop getting into trouble, and he wasn’t sure if he could do it now.

He was angry and upset, at Cas, for Cas. Maybe he still is.

He sighs at the memory and suddenly, Dean finds himself taking a sharp turn to the left. It's like his feet control themselves now, because he knows where he's going and he wants to stop it, turn back and head home, but he can't. The path he's taking feels familiar, like a road he has walked a thousand times, except he only came her once.

The air in the woods feels damp, but colder even though it doesn't really change. Dean finds himself nervous, even though there won't be anything to see, he thinks. He doesn't know someone else's feet found themselves back to the playground, too. He doesn't know someone else is on the left swing, hands folded in his laps. He doesn't know that that someone else is reliving the same memories as him. He doesn't know, until he sees.

The woods open up, and Dean follows the path, looking at his feet. He thinks the playground is empty, as empty as it was three months ago. He doesn't hear kids yelp, doesn't hear parents complain about safety. He only hears the birds chirp and the cars roar in the distance. Tomorrow is the Fourth of July, maybe that's why it's so deadly quiet. Everyone is out, preparing barbecues and buying groceries for tomorrow.

He makes his way to the swings, navigating blindly. He only looks up from the green grass beneath his feet when he hears the swing creak and spots a silhouette in the corner of his eyes. And there he is, Castiel -his Cas- sitting on the left swing, wearing a light blue sweater and grey Bermuda shorts. He looks a lot older, with shadows under the eyes and his face thinner than Dean remembers. Dean notices he doesn’t have his notebook with him anymore. His sneakers prod around in the sand, drawing figures Dean can't recognize. Cas doesn't look up as Dean places himself on the other side of the swing set. He must've noticed his presence though, that it's Dean, because his shoulders tense and his feet stop prodding. Dean rocks his swing back and forth, intently studying his shoelaces. He doesn't know how long they sit there like that, but he can at least count to 60 for about fifteen times.  Like _“Hey Cas, how have you been? I stayed outta trouble, got myself a proper job, even. I’m a bartender now, y’know?”_ and so on, but he doesn’t think Cas will care.

He wants to speak, but there is nothing to say.

Ten counts to sixty later he gets up slowly, glancing at Cas one more time before walking away. He counts his steps, telling himself that if Cas hasn't said anything before the fiftieth step he'll leave and not turn back. Not once.

So he counts. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Forty-five. Forty-seven. "Dean, wait."

He stops.

"Dean, wait. Don't...don't leave."

He turns around, eyebrows raised. "What is it, Cas?"

Castiel makes a gesture with his arm, and it takes approximately two seconds before Dean realizes he's trying to nudge Dean closer to the swing, back where he sat a minute ago. "You thought I was gonna let you walk away like that?"

Dean still doesn’t move. “Apparently. You’ve done it before.”

He feels bitterness well up inside him, maybe anger, too. They can’t blame him for this, he won’t let it.  Not again.

“So, what? I’m the bad guy now because I was doing something for your own good?” Cas shoots back, and Dean throws his hands in the air in exasperation.

“My own good? _My_ own good!? What about you, Cas, what about _you_?” His voice lowers to a hiss, barely audible when he adds, “Where were you, when I needed you?” Castiel raises his eyebrows in surprise, for just a moment.

“It’s funny, because the roles seem reversed now. You don’t need me, Dean,” he says, almost disbelieving. “You never did. You have friends – Jo, Anna, what’s his name again? Ash, right? See what I mean? You have friends.”

Dean bites his lip. It is true, but only kind of. He hasn’t seen or heard of Ash in months, but that’s normal for him. Jo, he calls daily, almost. Anna, well, she's Anna. Dean didn’t dare speak to her since Castiel left him on the front door of his apartment.

“Besides,” Castiel adds, “Who do I have, huh?” Dean sees he’s clenching his fists around the swing chain. His knuckles are pale, almost white. “I had Rachel. That was it. Then I had you, I think, I think I had you. But then you kissed me and I didn’t anymore.”

Dean holds his breath for a second. “You have Anna, and Gabe,” then silently, “You had me, even after I kissed you.”

Castiel says nothing. He just sits there, looking down, lips pressed into a flat line. Dean wants to do something, anything, try to make him speak. He doesn’t know what to say, or what to do. He feels like he’s frozen. It takes him a moment to find his voice back, and when he does, all he can say is one little sentence. “Talk to me.”

“I have nothing to say. You kissed me and I ran. And I'll run now, too,” he flinches, hesitates, “Do you know why I ran, Dean?”

Dean shakes his head.

“I ran because I'm afraid to get hurt.”

“I could never hurt you.”

“Rachel said that too, once. And look where I am now. Where I come from. _What_ I am." Cas sounds like he’s about to choke, and Dean finally takes a step closer to him. “What am I, Dean?” he adds.

Dean keeps quiet for a second. Three months is a long time. May the Gods know where Castiel has been during that time. The way he’s sitting there now, fists still clenched around the swing, biting down on his lip, eyes watery and hair uncombed, a little bit scruffy on his jaw – it makes his look so much older. World weary.

It isn’t until Cas looks up Dean realizes he hasn’t given him an answer yet. He sighs.

“You’re Cas,” he finally says after a pause, “You’re Castiel and I’m Dean.”

“What does that even _mean_ to you?”

“It means what it means. It means that you are Castiel Novak, and I’m Dean Winchester. And I will always be Dean Winchester and you will always be Castiel Novak.” He stops for a moment, taking a deep breath. His hand goes up to rub the back of his neck and he closes his eyes for a moment. “And in the end, we will just be two untold stories, right? But then again, I trust you can be much more than that.  Remember, you once compared us to the sun and the moon.”

Castiel makes a sound that sounds like something’s stuck in his throat, but then Dean realizes he’s barking out a laugh. “Hold on, you remember that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Look Cas, I care about you and I know I haven’t been completely open with you, about me, about my family, _about_ you. But neither have you, I must say. Can’t we like, start over?”

Castiel says nothing, he doesn’t even look at Dean.

“Let’s just,” Dean starts and he gets closer to the swing. “ask me and I will tell.”

He sits down and deep down inside, he’s cursing himself already. But this is Cas, and he’s Dean. He’s said it himself, right? Maybe Dean just wants someone as damaged as he is, if not more. They can be each other’s strength.

Castiel nods. “So,” Dean whispers, studying the trees at the other side of the playground, “What now?”

He hears Castiel inhale deeply. “I don’t know.”

Dean pushes himself to his feet again, extending a hand to Castiel. It feels vaguely familiar, but at the same time, it doesn’t. “How about I take you out for some coffee, or maybe even a drink, I don’t care. How about I tell you what you want to know, and you do the same.”

He sees Cas consider, debating with himself. He notices how he wants to say no, but ends up shrugging anyway. “I--uh...my family is expecting me,” he whispers and gets up on his own.

Dean drops his hand, which was still extended, and takes a breath. He takes a step back and lets Castiel pass him. This time he’s looking at Cas. This time, he’s actually _seeing_ him.

Castiel looks back at him and smiles. Dean notices how his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but then again, does it ever?

“How about we meet up tomorrow, Dean? At the coffee shop, around this time? It’ll be tranquil, so maybe we can talk.”

Dean shrugs, but can’t hide his smile. “Yeah, sure, I guess! I’ll see you then, I suppose.”

Cas gives him a small nod before disappearing into the woods.

Dean looks around, all alone again. Seeing Cas again after three months – it feels weird. He wishes it didn’t feel different, but it does. Dean fears tomorrow, because what if they’re back to the fifth of March, where everything started anew.

He drops down on the swing and takes his phone out, texting Jo about this.

She immediately texts him back, telling him to _“Man up, Dean. It’s gonna be okay.”_

He’s not so sure.

:::

It’s quiet at Biggerson’s the next day, since it’s still early in the morning and the only people who order coffee at this time are businessmen, and they don’t even work on days like these. Dean is grateful for the tranquility of the coffee shop, maybe that will help him concentrate.

He orders Castiel’s favorite tea and gets himself a coffee with lots of milk before sliding in the booth across Castiel, who had already been sitting there when he arrived. They sip at their drinks without saying a word until Dean realizes the silence has reached a new level of uncomfortable. He looks at Cas and clears his throat.

“Where do I start?” he asks, and Cas just looks up and shrugs.

“Wherever you want. I want to know why you’re like this. Why you’re so bitter, why you’re so scared.”

Dean sighs. Is he really going to do this?

Yes, yes he is.

His words come out as stutters at first. Not because he’s nervous or anything, but because he doesn’t know how to say it. He never talks about his life. He sits silently for a moment, trying to gather the memories and find a place to start, until Castiel reaches out and touches Dean’s hand for a second, just that one second, and suddenly he finds himself laughing. “This is weird,” he chuckles, “Normally it’s the other way around, me asking about you.”

Castiel cracks a smile, but he doesn’t say anything. Dean can’t stall any longer.

“You probably know some of this already, because you were Sam’s friend and all," he starts, thinking back to the years he would see Cas and Sam hanging out together, "But I used to live in Kansas.” he starts, giving Cas a look, “I was four when my mom almost died in a house fire. Short circuit, apparently. I carried Sam out of the nursery while my dad tried to get my mother to move. She thought Sam was dead and she kept screaming and crying. I don’t think she’s ever been the same after that. She went into therapy and we had to find a new home.”

He pauses, looking at the boy across from him. He fiddles with his spoon and licks his lips before continuing. “Dad had to take on three jobs to pay for it, but he also started drinking a lot. We moved from town to town, state to state, my dad trying to find a new job. At last, we ended up here in Portland and decided to stay because my dad could start patching up cars at Singer’s Salvage Yard during weekdays, and he had me do the same on the weekends. Bobby was a friend of dad’s, and he helped us find a house. I’ve been taking care of Sammy ever since the fire, but now, he doesn’t need me anymore,” Dean mutters, swallowing down the last sentence so that it comes out more quiet. He feels his heart starting to beat faster and he presses his eyes shut for a moment. Castiel says nothing, he just stares, biting his lip.

“Last year, I discovered Sam was looking through some college folders – Stanford, actually. I wasn’t planning on doing anything college-related back then and I…I just wanted to help, give him a chance. I really wanted him to have a future, so I tried to bring it up to my dad. He had been drinking and,” Dean pauses, covering his eyes with his hand for a second, fighting back the tears, “I should have known. He got angry at me, but mostly at Sam. He yelled that it would cost too much, and I snapped. I don’t remember what happened exactly, but I remember my mom crying and Sam trying to hold me back, pulling at my arms.”

Castiel squints, and his hands seem to tremble. Dean takes a deep breath, eyes coming up to meet Cas’. The other boy nods encouragingly.

“My dad ended up in the hospital. He got hit in the head with the glass bottle, I guess. It was all my fault, and Sam wouldn’t speak to me anymore either. So yeah, I moved out before dad got out of hospital and I…I didn't do too well after that. Why do you think I had to work at Medford’s, Cas?” Dean rubs a hand across his eyes, and then looks up at Cas, for the first time during his explanation. He grabs his coffee to swallow the sudden nausea down. “Drink driving. Picking fights left and right. I-”

He can’t speak anymore. His throat burns and his eyes sting with tears. He pinches the bridge of his nose, looking down to his lap instead of making eye contact with Cas again. He shouldn’t have told it in the first place, he should never have – no. Dean Winchester doesn’t do emotional talk, or chick-flick moments. He doesn’t do any sort of feelings. He solves his problems or drinks them away, that’s it.

The walls of the coffee shop seem to close in on him, and Dean desperately tries to control his breathing. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks up he sees Castiel leaned over the table, his eyes staring into Dean’s.

Castiel just wants to help, really, he must know what it’s like to feel like shit, to have problems. He was in Medford in the first place, but he seems fine right now.

As if the other boy can guess his thoughts, he cracks a small smile. “Hey, I know how it is to feel like this, but you need to fix this. I mean, look what happens to people who don’t have any chances anymore.” He leans back in his seat, Dean’s gaze following him. Castiel makes a gesture, pointing at himself, before smiling bitterly. 

When Castiel’s phone rings before Dean can come up with a reply, he dares to nip at his coffee again. It’s colder now, and Dean welcomes the liquid in his mouth. He lets Cas babble into his phone, occasionally replying with 'yes' and 'no _'_ s. Dean sees how his shoulders tense, then relax again.

“Sure, sure Gabe. Biggerson’s, you got it. How long do I h-“ Cas rolls his eyes, “Half an hour….Okay, okay yes! See you soon.” Cas clicks his phone shut, eyeing Dean.

“It’s, uh, it’s Gabriel. He wondered where I was because he came home from work and I wasn’t there and, yeah he’s pretty pissed. He’s picking me up here in an hour,” he explains before taking his cup of tea in both hands. Before drinking from it, he adds, “He wants to be there for me today since it’s the Fourth and I just finished my second round in Medford and yeah…well.”

If Dean hadn’t been sitting, he would have fallen on the ground. “You went back to Medford?”

Castiel smiles sadly, “I had nowhere to go. Let’s talk about it some other time, shall we?”

“I think this should be addressed,” Dean starts, but Cas holds up his hand.

“Not now. It’s not the time.”

Dean nods, even though he’s worried.

“So – what have _you_ been up to, Dean?”

It’s clear Cas wants to change topic, and Dean’s glad to go with it.

“I, uh, well I stayed outta trouble, if that’s what you’re asking. Finally paid off my apartment, which is _awesome_. I also got myself a job at a bar in Southwest Pine street, and it actually pays pretty good…”

He goes on, about how he’s saving for a trip to visit Jo and Ellen in Nebraska, about how he’s been working on cars in his free time as well – he sees how Cas is happy with the distraction, so he decides to keep talking.

In no-time and way too soon, Gabriel shows up in from of the coffee shop with his flashy red pickup.

“I’ll see you soon, okay. _Really_ soon?” Dean asks quietly once Cas spots the car in the parking lot. To his surprise, Cas nods and smiles at him.

The younger boy gets up and hesitates before leaving. “Make things right with Sam. I’m sure he’s not mad at you.”

:::

Dean wishes he would at least have the decency to use his own cell to call his own brother, but yeah, well, no. Instead, he walks back to his house but stops at the first phone booth he sees – which is actually kind of sad. He hesitates before slamming in some cash, maybe just enough for Dean to say what he wants to say. He’s genuinely surprised when he hears the beeping of a phone going over. So, those things actually work?

Sam picks up after the fourth ring, and Dean has to bite his fist to not cry out there and then. He hasn’t heard his little brother’s voice in ages, and it’s changed so much. He’s convinced it isn’t just _Sammy_ anymore – it’s Sam now.  Just Sam.

“Hello?” It’s meant as a question, obviously, because who the hell calls from a phone booth.

Dean swallows and resists the urge to just hang up. “Sam.”

It stays quiet and for a second Dean thinks his brother just fucking hung up on him. He should have seen it coming, and he sighs.

He’s about to hang up when Sam speaks, his voice soft. “Who is this?”

Dean can’t do it, he can’t. Sam doesn’t recognize his voice, if he hangs up now he can ma- “ _Dean?_ Dean, is that you?”

Dean holds his breath for a second. “Yeah, Sam, it’s me.”

He waits until Sam talks, starts yelling at him before disconnecting the call, instead, he asks:  “Are you…Dean, is this the number of a phone booth?” 

“Yeah.”

“Why are you calling from a phone booth?” Sam asks, amusement and irritation simultaneously dripping through his voice.

“If I had called you with my own phone, would you have picked up?”

He hears Sam’s offended intake of breath, followed by a groan. “Yes! Why not? You’re the one who left me!”

“Me? You wouldn’t talk to me anymore!” Dean finds himself yelling back, and an old lady just outside the booth stops to look at him, eyebrows raised. Dean leans against the cold iron of the slot, giving the woman a small, irritated wave.

“I was afraid, Dean! What was I supposed to do? I wanted to talk to you about what happened and…and before I could you were gone!” Dean can just imagine how his brother throws his arms up in the air.

“You were angry at me because I’ve let you down, how could I have stayed when I have let you down! I bet you couldn’t even go to Stanford because of what I did!”

Sam takes a breath, but says nothing. Dean doesn’t know what he’s about to say,  but it sure as hell will surprise him. And it does. “Actually, I’m at Stanford now. Well, not now. Now I’m at my girlfriend’s house.”

Dean steadies himself before replying, and the questions come out at once. “What? How? You are at- Stanf- Wait, You have a girlfr- Sam, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Hard to tell you stuff if I think you don’t want to talk to me,” he says, and Dean feels something burn in his chest – it’s guilt. “Anyway, after I graduated, I kind of got a full ride and dad let me go because, well, he didn’t have to pay. As for the girlfriend part – ah there she is!” Sam adds, before Dean hears the sound of him kissing someone.

Dean scowls, but tries to keep his voice light. “Hey, man. Are you coming back here soon? We should catch up, if you’re not too angry at me for being a dick to you the past year.”

“Shhhh, Jess, it’s my brother!” he hears Sam say, and Dean finds himself smiling. Oh, his little brother. “Say hi to him, even though he doesn’t know me!” a girly voice shrieks, and Sam laughs.

He’s happy, Dean realizes. Sam’s happy and Dean doesn’t wanna ruin it. Not again.

“You know, we don’t have to, we can always, you know…” Dean mutters, but Sam cuts him off.

“Dean, I’m not angry at you, I never was.”

 _Liar_ , he thinks, but he decides to believe it for now.

“I’m sorry," Sam says after a moment, "I have to go now, I’m celebrating Independence Day at Jess’. I’ll be home around the end of August, how about I come and see you then?”

“Sure,” he says, voice confident. On the inside, he feels rotten. Sam’s happy. Sam doesn’t need him, but he still wants to talk to him? _“I’ll talk to you soon.”_

“Oh and Dean?” Sam adds, “Happy Fourth.”

“You too, Sam. You too.”

Yeah, about that, he’s gonna need a drink.

:::

Apparently, he’s not the only one.

The fireworks echo in the distance, and Dean groans before putting his head under his pillow. He's not too drunk right now, not like he used to get, but he's irritable, exhausted, and the digital clock across the room keeps blinking at him: _2:05, 2:07, 2:14..._

He’s reached the point where he’s almost asleep when his night table buzzes and _Ramble On_ starts playing through the room. It takes him a second to realize it’s his phone. He winces at the light when he unlocks the screen to look at the caller ID. It’s Cas.

“Hmmmmm,” he mutters in daze, but he fully wakes up the moment he doesn’t hear Cas’ formal greeting, but loud sobbing.

“D-dean,” he croaks out, and Dean shudders at the sound, already throwing his legs out of bed and heading for where he tossed his jacket earlier. "Cas?" he asks, voice rising in panic, but Cas only moans in return, and the call cuts off. _Something’s wrong_ , Dean thinks, as he heads out the door, _something’s wrong with Cas_.


	7. Wake Up Call

Calling Dean has to be one of the most stupid things he’s ever done. Well that, and drinking almost a whole of Gabe’s stashed whiskey bottles. He had woken up from a nightmare, alone, and after what happened last time he woke up alone, he- he doesn’t want to think about it. Gabriel went out with his girlfriend, Kali, after Cas told him he was heading off to bed. It was fine, he had said, he can take care of himself.

Truth is, he can’t. He'd woken up with the feeling of his whole body being covered in glass and blood and he grabbed the first bottle he saw. Mind you, Castiel has never really drank alcohol before. Unless you count the times he took a sip from Anna’s wine on Christmas Eve or that one time Zachariah convinced him to finish his bottle of beer. There was that one time with Dean in the park, too, not too long ago. That had been the most alcohol he’s ever consumed in his life, until now. 

He doesn’t realize he’s calling Dean until he hears Dean's voice on the other end, calling his name, and all he was able to give in return was a sob as he whines Dean's name. Suddenly, the call disconnects, and he doesn't know why, blindly pushes at the bottoms of his phone trying to take it back. He’s fully crying now, and he doesn’t even know _why_.

He tries calling Dean again, but this time his phone goes straight to voicemail. He should’ve known, he should’ve known Dean wasn’t one for that kind of shit. He curls onto his side, feels the tears leaking down his face.

He misses the first knock on the door, but hears the second one. He wipes his tears and uncurls from his position on the couch he dropped down on after his call. His head is aching, like someone knocked on it with a hammer. He’s tempted to just stay and let Gabriel find his own way inside, but then the knocking comes again, louder, more urgent. Castiel stands up, breath hitching and the world spinning around him. He stumbles forward, somehow makes it to the front door, tugs it open.

As soon as he opens the door, a pair of strong arms wrap around his waist, pulling him close to a warm chest. “Fuck, Cas!” he hears the voice whisper, and it takes him a moment to register it as Dean's. “I thought you were hurt," Dean continues, repositioning his arms to try to keep Cas upright, "I thought…" He pauses, takes a step inside, "You're not hurt, are you?" Dean asks. 

Cas pushes himself away from Dean's embrace, but Dean keeps his arms locked around him, keeping him steady. "'m fine," Cas mumbles, giving up on separating them and swaying gently in Dean's hold.

Dean lets go of his wait, only to grab his shoulders and leaning down to look straight at him. “What happened? Are you…Cas, _are you drunk_?”

“I saw ‘er, Dean,” Castiel’s voice slurs a bit as he responds and judging from the puzzled look on Dean’s face, he’s gonna have to elaborate. “I saw Rachel again, I saw my dead sis’er.”

Suddenly, he’s laughing. Mouth wide open, head tilted back a little. His sister. She’s not coming back whatsoever.

Dean opens his mouth in shock, but closes it again without saying a word. He does this a few times, and it makes him look like a fish grasping for air. Castiel chuckles at the sight. Apparently, he didn’t completely understand what Cas was saying, because the look he’s giving him is beyond confusion, until his expression clears. "You had a nightmare.”

Castiel swallows, unaware of Dean’s grip loosening his shoulders. He nods reluctantly.

“Do you see her often?” Dean asks, and Castiel shrugs, causing Dean’s hands to fall off his shoulders. He tumbles backwards and Dean manages to catch him by wrapping both his arms around him.

“In the beginning I did, bu’ now is only some times,” he mutters, “Dean, d’you know where I have been the past few months?”

Even in the dark and through the blur of his vision, Castiel can see how his cheeks burn almost bright red, “You told me earlier.” Dean loosens his grip on the other boy again, “Hey man, listen, you don’t have to tell me, not if you don’t want to.”

Cas shrugs, outstretching his hand toward Dean’s shoulder, “I wan’o, I need to get this off my chest. I need s’meone to trust.”

“Let’s talk in the morning,” Dean answers. He pulls Cas closer again, until the younger boy is pressed with his cheek against Dean’s chest.

Castiel inhales his scent. It dizzies him. “Good‘dea, Dean,” he mutters, before yawning. He's sure he hears Dean chuckle. 

:::

Cas vaguely remembers how Dean wrapped him in a blanket and helped him lie down, leaving for a moment to come back and place a bucket by the bed.  He remembers much more vividly waking up a few hours later and emptying the entirety of his stomach contents into it. The house is quiet, and Castiel thinks Dean must have left after he put him to bed, though he thinks he remembers Dean's arms wrapped around him and his breath on the back of his neck as he fell asleep.

Cas stays kneeled down by the bucket until he’s sure his stomach is empty. It reeks, and once he finds the strength to get up he moves straight toward the toilet, emptying the contents of the bucket. He squirts some air refresher into his room before heading to the living room, only to find Dean asleep on the couch, blanket draped over his chest. Apparently he didn’t leave, then. The poor guy didn’t even take off his shoes.

Castiel debates whether to wake him up or not, and decides the latter. He has a pounding headache and just wants to go back to sleep, and besides, Dean’s face is peaceful as he sleeps, every muscle is relaxed and every wrinkle on his face seems magically flattened. Cas finds himself staring at him, and the only thing he can think is that _Dean is beautiful_.

His phone buzzes in the kitchen, even though Cas can’t remember putting it there. He strolls towards the source of the buzzing, only to find a text from Gabe.

_“Came home to someone passed out on the couch? Didn’t wake them up for their own sake. I’m not gonna ask but…WHO IS IT?! I’ll be home tonight, be ready for interrogation ;)”_

Castiel sighs before putting the phone back on the counter. He’s not looking forward to it, not at all. Now that he’s in the kitchen, he decides to search from some aspirin, or just something that makes his headache go away even faster than it came.

He spots movement in the corner of his eye, and finds Dean looking at him from the couch. Dean smiles at first, but then he seems to realize why he’s on Castiel’s couch. His face drops to concern. The peacefulness is gone. The wrinkles are back.

 “So…” he starts after some time, still looking at Cas, “You still want to talk about this?”

Castiel considers for a second, but who else is there to talk to? But on the other hand, Dean’s as much of a broken person as he is, why should he, out of all people, want to put up with his crap?

“You sure you want this on an empty stomach?” Cas replies dryly. He’s not very hungry, even though his stomach now believes he hasn’t eaten in more than 20 hours. Dean thinks about it for a moment, and Cas figures he must be hungry as hell, but then Dean shakes his head and smiles encouragingly. In some way it’s the most selfless thing Cas has seen in a while.

“Would you like some coffee, or water? We have orange juice too,” Cas offers and Dean just sighs.

“Whatever you’re having. I just want to talk to you.”

Castiel starts rummaging in the kitchen again, this time searching for two glasses and the bottle of juice. “There’s nothing much to talk about.”

When he looks back up, Dean has moved himself from the couch to the kitchen table, giving the younger boy a look that asks trouble. “I think there is.”

Dean keeps eyeing him even while Cas puts the glasses on the table and pour in the orange juice. “It's not important,” the younger boy mutters, and Dean almost snorts.

“It clearly is when you call me in the middle of the night, sobbing that you’ve seen your dead sister.”

Castiel freezes, his glass halfway between the table and his mouth. He presses his eyes shut and slams it back on the table. “It was an accident,” he explains, but when Dean just raises his eyebrows, he starts talking.

“I went to Medford after a failed suicide attempt. There, you have it,” Cas whispers. “I thought you figured that much.”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line for a second. “Nope.”

Cas lets go of the glass and turns his palms, letting Dean take a look at his scars.“These are from the accident, and I kept staring at them. They’re _hideous._ And it's because of her. It's always because of her. I'm so alone all the time and then…I…and I swear sometimes it was like she was right there and I could hear her voice if I only tried hard enough. And I was just waiting every day to start hearing her voice and I know it's all my fault and I just couldn't…”

He’s not going to cry, he realizes. He doesn’t feel tears well up in his eyes, he doesn’t feel like something’s stuck in his throat, ready to choke him. He’s stuttering a bit, but all he feels is anger. Anger towards himself for living, towards Rachel for dying, towards Dean for asking.

“I- I’ve tried talking about it. With my dad, with Crowley. My dad said I was crazy." He spits out the word. "And some nights he would yell that I should have died, not Rachel. Turns out he was right." He lets out a dry laugh before continuing, ignoring the pained expression on Dean's face. “I was dating Crowley back when it happened, or at least I thought I was. He was there for me, and…yeah I was needy. What did you expect? Apparently he faced our relationship quite differently than I did, though. We weren’t dating, we, we were _just friends._ We…messed around and made out behind the bleachers, but he- he didn’t love me. According to him it was, it just- _technically_ we weren’t dating. I was in love and I thought he was too, until we had a fight and he told me I meant nothing." He pauses, and utter silence descends around them. Finally, Cas takes a deep breath and says, quietly, "He was right. They were _all_ right, and that’s why I…”

He trails off, waits for Dean to laugh, to get angry, or to do both. But Dean does nothing, just takes a sip from his juice and calmly puts it back down, and tells him, “I’m glad you survived, Cas.”

Cas blankly stares, lost for words.

“I suppose you know what happened then. Medford. Meeting you,” he says after a few minutes of silence. Dean nods, and Cas continues, the words spilling from his mouth and now he doesn't seem able to stop them.

“Gabe’s just gone a lot, you know? Traveling for his job, or spending time with his girlfriend. I get it, and it’s fine, he doesn’t have to babysit me, even though I know he wants to,” Cas starts again, and Dean nods, a pained expression forming on his face. He knows how it is.

“So yeah, I told him that, I told him everything after I came home, except that I still saw Rachel in my nightmares, except for the fact you walked into my life and walked out again in such a short time it dizzied me.” He sees how Dean wants to interrupt, but ends up not doing so. “Rachel looked so real sometimes, and at night I would relive her last moments. It was horrible, it…it still is. I was on other medication back then, and one night, I woke up screaming, and I was alone. It’s then I realized that I couldn’t live like this, not without starting to hurt myself again, so I went back. To…uh…you know. To Medford.” He sits there, nibbling on his own lip, waiting for Dean to respond, and he finally does.

“Why didn’t you talk to anyone about it?” Cas hears Dean whisper, and he lets out a bitter laugh.

“The only person I could ever talk to is dead.”

Dean pauses for a moment, and then asks in a soft voice, "What about me? Gabe? Anna?"

Cas shrugs, tries to write the question off casually. “Everyone I have ever cared about hurt me, and so did you, once. So…why wouldn’t you do it again?” His voice trails off to barely a whisper, and he can't meet Dean's eyes.

“Because,” Dean says at last, voice loud and startling, “I know how it feels.” His voice is calm, until he continues with a frustrated, “ _Dammit Cas!”_ He slaps his hand on the table, making their juices tremble in their glasses. Cas jolts back, and Dean’s eyes widen, as if he just realized what he did. He coughs, quickly muttering an apology before sinking back in his seat. “I know what it feels like, getting hurt, okay? I’m sorry I asked.”

Cas takes his glass from the table and drinks from it, trying to avoid Dean’s eyes.

Dean clears his throat, and tries again. “It’s just...Cas. I want you to let me in, but if you can’t let yourself in first, I don’t know. I think we’re pretty much the same, man,” Dean says, focusing his gaze on Castiel’s wrist.

“But everybody leaves,” Cas replies, getting up from his seat and walking towards the kitchen counter. “My mother died giving birth to me, you know. My dad said it was my fault – what is new – and he was right.” He makes a small, broken sound in the back of his throat. “And then Rachel died because of me. And you know why we in that stupid car in the first place? Because I wanted a fucking burger.” He stops, shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath in. "I wanted a stupid hamburger because my dad yelled at me and didn’t wanna prepare supper, and  she came with me, and we crashed."

Cas leans on the counter with both hands, looking down at his feet. “And I might as well have died, really. My life just…stopped. I stopped drawing, I stopped caring.” He sucks in a deep breath, “I stopped living.”

He hears Dean shift in his seat, and when Cas looks up he the tears glimmering in the corners of Dean's eyes, and the sight shocks him, makes his heart thump louder in his chest. “I’m sorry,” Dean whispers, “I just…fuck, I’m sorry that you have a shit life, and I’m sorry you think so little of yourself.”

Cas raises both eyebrows at the sudden twist of feelings, and walks back to the table, slowly, steadily, though he doesn't sit down.

“Just drop it now," he begs, "Let’s just, get on with it, shall we? I have a pounding headache and I just wanna go to sleep again.”

Dean reaches for Cas’ hand on his shoulder and squeezes it.

“Guess I should go, then,” Dean slides his chair back and gets up. Cas watches him for a second before realizing Dean’s about to leave.

“No, wait! Uh,” he freezes when Dean turns around to face him again, “just, can’t you stay a while? I don’t wanna be, you know, _alone_. Not right now.”

“I thought you wanted to sleep?”

“I do, but I don’t wanna wake up alone again. What if something happens? I’ll be home alone until tonight, at the least.”

Dean nods, “sure, if you want me to stay, I’ll stay. I can use some sleep myself,”

And so it happens, Dean flopping himself down back on the couch while Cas calmly lays down on the other one. Dean falls asleep almost immediately, Cas follows suit not too late after. He falls asleep watching the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest.

He sleeps dreamless.

:::                                                            

Things take a turn after their talk.  For once in his life, it’s a positive one. One that makes Castiel think that things are gonna be okay.

Dean spends a lot of time with him, for one. It’s unspoken, really, but it’s easier for both of them. Dean isn’t so alone all the time, and Cas, well, he has a chance to take his mind off of things. They fall into an easy rhythm after a while – Gabriel spends most of his time at Kali’s or traveling for his job, so Dean comes over when he isn’t at work. They hang out a lot, watching television or taking a walk to the coffee shop and back. They order pizza or Dean, who turns out to be an excellent cook, prepares something. It’s like they’re already living together, even though they’re not. Not really. Yet.

Things change when Gabriel comes home from a trip to Paris one day, a semi-happy, semi-worried look on his face.

“Kali  asked me to move in with her, but I don’t want you to, you know, get bad again when I leave you alone. I know Dean’s here for you when you need him, but I-”

Castiel just cuts him off with a shrug as he finishes the eyes of the black cat he’s drawing. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I’m selling the apartment, I think. Unless you wanna stay and live on your own here,” Gabe announces, and Cas shuts the light green notebook in his hands and looks up.

“I’ll have to find a job, right? Will I still be able to go to college during the spring semester?”

“I can keep paying, if you want, ‘s long as you need my good deeds, that is,” Gabriel slumps against the doorframe, crossing his arms, “Anna isn’t too far away, so if you really don’t want to stick around without my awesomeness here, you can stay at her place for a while.”

“No, I’ll just stay here, I think. I promise I’ll try to find a job. Powell’s is hiring, apparently. Maybe I can take a look there?”

Gabriel nods, “Yeah, sure. Are you going to be alright, though?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

They don’t say it, but it’s there. The thought of _what-if_ , it’s always there.

He knows Gabriel is trying to believe it. He also knows he won’t. He’s willing to take a risk, though, and that’s why Castiel says nothing and his older cousin just nods.

:::

Dean immediately knows something’s wrong when Castiel wanders into Biggerson’s on a Thursday late afternoon at the end of July and slides into the booth. “Okay, spill,” he says, and Castiel looks up in confusion.

“Spill what?”

“There’s worry on your face,” Dean says, staring him down.

But the truth is, it isn’t worry, not really. He doesn't quite know what it is. It’s tension, conflict, bickering in his own mind. “There’s nothing on my face. A bit of scruff maybe, but…” He touches his face dramatically, “Nothing.”

Dean groans and rolls his eyes. "Cas, come on."

“So, what are you getting? Drink's on me.”

Dean sighs at the obvious change of topic before muttering, “Lots of milk. Just how I like it.”

Castiel rushes off towards the counter and orders their drinks. The waitress, Kara, greets him with a smile. She's used to seeing him here. “Same as always, I suppose?”

Castiel nods, but then changes his mind. “No, uh, get me a black coffee, but without sugar. And a piece of pie. In a bag, please.”

Kara grins, “Sure, Cas. You look nervous today, are you alright?”

He nods and cracks a smile, reassuring Kara that he’s fine. And he should be fine, he knows he should be. With Gabe moving out, things will be how they should have always been--him, alone. Finally on his own.

Because it's true. He should’ve been living alone already, in a little apartment in the center of San Francisco; studying at art school, making new friends and going out with them, making money by working at the local Starbucks where after his shift was over, he would order himself a Hazelnut Macchiato. He should have had a future to look out to, being on his own, or maybe not on his own. He could have met a guy, who he would fall in love with and draw for, sitting home on the couch together on a cold Sunday afternoon.

How treacherous it is to think your future will be the one you have imagined. It always lets you down.

“Castiel?” He shakes back to reality when Kara waves her hand in front of his face. “Earth to Castiel!”

Cas chuckles and apologizes, sliding her a ten dollar bill before taking the two cups of coffee and the bag with the piece of pie in both hands. “Keep the change,” he interrupts when she reaches into the cash register to give him his money back. 

Kara grins from ear to ear and thanks him, before rushing off to help another customer.

“Paper cups?” Dean raises his eyebrows as Cas approaches again.

“I want some fresh air to enjoy this with,” he replies, holding up the bag. A flicker in Dean’s eyes clearly proves he knows what’s in it.

“Pie?” Dean asks, voice a pitch higher than before, excited.

“You’re like a dog, Dean. Yes, pie. Now come,” he orders playfully, “Please?”

Dean gets up, taking the cup Cas is handing him. “Playground?”

“Playground.”

:::

It’s empty, as always. Dean has been quiet the entire walk. His lips seem to be locked and the silence isn’t even that bad. It’s peaceful.

They’re having a whole conversation without actually saying something. Cas knows Dean will ask what’s wrong from the moment they sit down on a bench, or the swing-set. Dean probably knows Cas isn’t going to spill, and that the younger boy bought pie for that reason exactly. Bribery at its finest.

“So,” Dean says as he sits down on the left swing.

“So,” Cas hums as he throws the pie bag to Dean.

“Why did you buy me p-oh god, it’s _apple_ pie, my favorite. Something must be really, really wrong.”

“There isn’t,” the younger boy lies. “just a little _thank you for not being fed up with my bullshit yet_ -present, I suppose.”

Dean smiles, almost childlike, before taking a bite.

“Ca’ yu’r amazin’!” the other boy praises, mouth filled with apple pie. He swallows before patting him on the back and adding: “I’d never be fed up with your bullshit. I’m here for you, buddy.”

It doesn’t take long before Dean finishes the pie and begins to look over at Cas, an expectant look in his eyes. “Okay, let’s talk now.”

“There’s nothing to talk about for once, Dean, I just wanted some fresh air.”

Dean barks a laugh and Cas sees his fingers tighten around the coffee cup for a second. “Sure, yeah,” he mutters, but he doesn’t add anything to it.

But it's only half an hour later before the truth comes out. They’re making plans for the new Star Trek movie they want to check out soon.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen Star Trek, Cas, I-” Dean exclaims, hand gesturing dramatically outwards as if to sum up the entire tragedy of Cas' pop culture experience.

“I’ve never had occasion!” Cas shrugs. They’re walking back to his apartment, because Gabriel’s probably gonna need help with packing. It all went by so quickly, less than two weeks since Gabriel told him he wanted to move out, less than twenty-four hours before Cas’ big brother will be gone.

He knows he should tell Dean, should tell him before they arrive. Dean’s going to see the boxes the moment they get inside. Cas knows it shouldn’t be a big deal at all, but then again it is. For Cas at least, because the thought of having to sit alone at cold nights waiting for the sun to come up freaks him out to an almost unbearable level. He doesn't trust himself to be alone.

But he doesn’t want to burden Dean with the fact it’s gonna happen. The older boy’s already acting like a caretaker towards Castiel – hanging out with him even though he probably has better things to do, listening to him when things get bad. He doesn’t need his best friend to become his babysitter. 

He accidentally drops a hint when they’re talking about whether they’re gonna get Chinese or Pizza for takeout. “Doesn’t matter. I'm going to have to get used to it either way."

Dean slows down his pace, “I thought Gabe was a good cook? What, he bailing out on you?”

Shit. _Shitshitshitshitshit_. “Uh, nothing, it’s nothing. Chinese sounds good,” Castiel rushes, ignoring the questioning look Dean gives him.

There's no delaying it any longer when they get to the apartment though. Dean stops a foot inside, staring around in confusion. “What are these boxes for?”

“Gabe…he’s, uh, he’s moving in with Kali,” Castiel explains, back turned towards Dean.

“What’s gonna happen to you? You’re moving with them? You’re _leaving_?” Dean’s voice lowers, and Castiel almost shivers even though it’s still hot outside as he steps ahead of Dean and continues inside.

“I’m gonna be living alone,” he says nonchalantly, “here.”

Dean makes a noise like he's choking.

Castiel hears footsteps coming near him, followed by the firm touch of a hand on his shoulder, turning him around.

“You know what happened last time you were alone for a while?”

“I know. Do you?” Castiel says, raising an eyebrow. He feels part of himself shattering. He doesn’t need to be reminded of this, he keeps telling himself that he’s stronger than that now.

“Cas, just…you can’t be real. I know part of you can do this but, but not yet! You only just got back and-”

“And _what_ , Dean?”

“Just…Cas,” Dean starts and Cas just wants to cover his ears. It’s petulant, he knows that, but he doesn’t want to hear how he can’t do it, how he’s gonna fail at trying to stand on his own two feet without someone having to carry him.

He hears something very different, instead.

“You’re my best friend and I--you should know I can’t be here all the time even if I want to. I know you can do this, I know you can do that, but not…dammit, I should’ve known this would be coming. Cas, you’re alone, I’m alone. Why don’t you just…” he takes a breath.

“Just what?”

“Come live with me.” 

His knees buckle and he almost drops to the ground, bags of Chinese and all. He definitely didn't see that one coming. Out of body, he feels himself shaking his head, sure he's imagining this conversation. "What?"

"Come. Live. With. Me," Dean repeats, slowly this time.

Oh, so he did hear it correctly. His first instinct is to say yes, and part of him wants it, wants it with every fiber of his body. But to accept that, to accept Dean giving him so much, it leaves him so open to lose everything again. It makes him vulnerable.

"If this is your way of taking pity on me, forget it."

"It's not, it's- Cas, I don't want you to be alone," Dean tries, and he may or may not sound a little desperate. "It's just…I don't want you to get bad again. I don't want to be alone anymore. How are you gonna pay the rent on this? You don't, you're unemployed!" Dean voice rises, getting higher with every word. "Come live with me, at least until you find a job or some college you want to go. You won't even have to pay rent, I make enough for both of us and…" His voice trails away, and Dean shrugs helplessly, waiting for an answer.

Cas leans back against the kitchen counter. He can imagine it, him and Dean living together. They practically already are. And now that he thinks about it, it sounds like a good idea. A great one, even.  But the thought of being desperate, clingy, holds him back, and he shakes his head once more.

“You’re not a caretaker, Dean, you shouldn’t be one. And besides, you can do better than inviting me to live with you. One day, you're going to…come home with someone and I'm gonna have to leave again. And you know what? I'd rather prevent that and just live on my own."

A part of him hopes Dean's just going to shrug and whisper "Fine, okay, good." But a small, secret part of him begs Dean to hold out, to insist, though they both have to know Cas is going to mess this up at some point.  He's sure the battle of emotions must play out on his face, because he can feel Dean's eyes on him, seeking out every sign.

"Castiel," Dean says at last, using his full name for one of the first times since they met. "You are my best friend and I'm asking this because I care about you."

 _No one cares about me_ , he thinks, _so why should Dean_?

Dean steps closer to Cas, grabbing his shoulder, "I'm a bit desperate and one thousand kinds of alone. You'd be a good roommate Cas," he whispers. Castiel closes his eyes.

"You pity me," he answers and he hears how Dean lets out a hollow laugh. He opens his eyes to see the other boy's worried look. His only thought, echoing through his brain, useless and shallow, is how green his eyes are and how even his eyelids are peppered with freckles.

"I don't pity you. I know you don't want to be alone and…" He must realize Cas wants to object, tell him he won't be alone, because he rushes to finish before Cas can respond. "…don't even disagree with me that we'd both benefit from it."

Castiel shrugs nonchalantly, though his emotions are roiling inside of him, feels the firm grip of Dean's hand on his shoulder. "Fine," he mutters at last.

"What was that?"

"I said fine!" Castiel yells, pushing Dean's hand off his shoulder and walking to the fridge to pour himself a glass of water, "Now stop trying to convince me. It's fine."

Dean smiles smugly, "Then it's settled. We're gonna become roommates!"

:::

The first week after Gabriel moves out is hectic. Actually, that's kind of an understatement. Castiel packed all his belongings, which wasn't much - his notebook and pencils, the clothes he's managed to save from his father's house, his phone and charger and...that's about it.

Telling Gabriel had to be the most nerve wracking thing, since he only knows Dean as the dude who once shoved his little cousin against a locker and almost dislocated his shoulder, and later as the young man who his brother met at Medford. The night Dean asked Cas to move in, they both waited until Gabe got home. Once they explained what was going on, Gabe took the first excuse to drag Dean into the kitchen, under the pretense of grabbing a glass of water, and Cas was sure from Dean's bemused yet tormented expression that he'd just been subjected to The Talk.

So now Cas is standing in the living room, next to the fold-out bed. Dean has tried to convince Cas into taking the real bed, but Cas was firm on taking the fold-out, since he owes Dean for eternity. They're putting Gabe's apartment for sale, and the profit of it will be separated between Gabriel and Cas, so the other boy can pay Dean at least a little once the apartment is sold.

"It's not much, since I haven't lived here for long, but it's something," Dean says, his voice a strange mix of sorrow and excitement. It's a mixed feeling Cas has as well, because Dean's so selfless and nice and no one has ever done something like that. Not for him.

"Dean, I-" Cas knows he can't put his gratitude into words, so instead he does something that even shocks him. He steps close to Dean and wraps his arms around him. "Thank you. For everything."

Dean stiffens, which is weird since normally he's the hugger, then seems to relax. He pats Castiel's back and the younger boy can feel how he smiles.

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

 

 


	8. Revelations

It’s almost surprising how easy the two boys get along in their new form of domesticity. Dean starts helping a hand at Bobby’s garage during the weekends and still keeps his job at a local bar four days a week. Work at the bar is hard, judging that from the fact that moment things don’t go too well he reaches for the bottle – Winchester family antics, probably. But then again, being a bartender tips well, enough to pay rent. Castiel, on the other hand, found a job and is trying to keep the it that way until the new college year starts. He’s working in, how ironically, Biggerson’s now. Apparently, he’s going to try to get an engineering degree, because that’s what ran in the family – no, correction, because that’s what his dad wanted.

It comes up again on a warm evening, somewhere in August. They’re both drinking beer – _please_ , Cas is mentally older than Dean, why shouldn’t he? – when it comes up

“Your dad abandoned you, blamed you for shit you didn’t have anything to do with, and you _still_ want to follow in his footsteps?” Dean inquires over his own bottle, voice a pitch higher than it would normally be.

“I can get my life back,” Cas replies, finger tracing the opening of his own bottle.

Dean purses his lips and then opens his mouth to reply, causing a ‘pop’ sound to echo through the living room. “Or you can start a new one. I bet you’ve had it all planned out,” he starts, and he should know he’s most likely going to push some buttons here. “You were going to go to art school, weren’t you? Get a degree, become a drawer or whatever – a cartoonist, art teacher, an architect for all I know! And now you’re going to study engineering? Cas, listen, this isn’t what you want, you know it, I know it. Just do what you want to do, screw your dad, your sister – screw them all. Be selfish for a second, will you?”

Dean knows it’s hard – it really, really is. Standing up for yourself, pretending you’re okay with things when you clearly aren’t, it sucks ass. He knows Cas well enough now, so seeing how the younger boy almost drops his bottle and bites his lip as he manages to catch it, eyes focused on Dean, doesn’t come as a surprise.

“Just drop it. We’ll see what’s gonna happen, but art isn’t what it’s was supposed to be for me. I want to build my own future, stone by stone,” Cas answers, voice just low enough to threaten a fight if Dean tries to keep the subject going. So they drop it. For a while. Dean wonders what’s gonna happen when Cas eventually goes to college, he wonders if things are gonna change.

They will, probably. Maybe not in the best way.

:::

Dean wakes up a few nights later by the sound of someone choking in the living room. Cas.

He pulls the blankets aside, pauses to check that he isn’t imagining things at this goddamn unholy hour at the night. He rushes a hand through his hair and shakes his head. His vision is blurry with sleep and he tries to stand straight. When he knows he’s awake enough, he remembers why he woke up in the first place. Right, Cas. He rushes to the living room, where Cas is asleep on the fold-out, holding his knees in his arms. He’s not awake, that’s for sure.

The younger boy’s breathing is uneven – in bursts and shocks – and Dean immediately knows what’s wrong. He’s having a nightmare.

He doesn’t know what Cas is going through, actually. He thought he knew. He thought his best friend was better, that it was over, but at night the most vulnerable parts of people come up.

The light of the full moon outside is coming through the open window, covering Cas in shades of yellow and streaks of white. It makes him look weak, covered in light and curled up into a ball.

He hesitates before waking Cas up, in case the nightmare’s over – maybe the younger boy can return to a peaceful and dreamless sleep, until in the morning, where Dean will talk to him about it.

The sudden quiet in the room is overwhelming. Dean only hears the wind rush through the trees across the street, he hears how Cas’ breathing is becoming steady at last. The older boy thinks it’s done, thinks it’s okay.

But he's wrong.

:::

_Castiel doesn't want to relive it. But he does so anyway. Her face is radiant as she smiles at him, teeth visible, eyes shining bright. Her glasses mirror the lights of the lanterns they pass on the road. He knows the exact moment it comes, he should. He's relived it a million times._

_"I'm happy to have you, Rach," he whispers and she takes one hand off the wheel to take his. "You'll always have me." She winks at him before turning her attention back on the street. They're about a mile away from their destination, and Cas' stomach almost rumbles with anticipation. He loves doing these little things with Rachel, loves how she takes him away from Father. She should've been living on her own by now really, but she always says she doesn't want to leave him._

_Ten seconds. Technically, they shouldn't be here. It's just a matter of wrong place, wrong time. If Castiel hadn't accidentally dropped the glass of water, Father wouldn't have hit him and they would have had a nice family dinner together. But no, he had dropped it and Father hit him for being so fucking stupid and Rachel dragged him into the car, promptly snarling that if things are like this, they'll get a burger, for crying out loud._

_Five seconds. He sees a blinding light to his left, hears the honk of an approaching car. They're in the middle of a crossroad. The light had been green, he was sure. "Rachel?" he whispers, panic rising in his chest. This can't be happening, not now. He knows it's happening, he knows. Somewhere in the back of his head something –or someone– is screaming to wake up._

_"Cas," Rachel's eyes mirror the terror he's feeling. She grabs his hand firmly, "I-"_

_That's when he hears the shattering of glass, that's when he feels himself slipping from Rachel's grip. He feels a sharp pain in his collar bone, his leg. His lungs are burning, burning, burning. He screams._

Two hands grip him by the shoulder.

:::

"Cas, dammit, wake up!" Dean's frantic voice echoes in his ear. He sees how Cas's eyes fly open and reaches out a hand to feel his forehead, keeping him pinned to the fold-out. His head aches, his cheeks are coated with tears, and when he swallows, his throat burns.

He doesn't even get the chance to say anything or even take a breath before he feels how Dean pulls him up and against his chest. "Cas, what's wrong?"

The tears come, as Dean expected. The other boy can't breathe, he simply can't. His forehead slumps against Dean's shoulder as he tries to inhale, exhale. Dean's hands run in circles over his back, trying to soothe his breathing.

"It's Rachel," he gasps, "It's always Rachel. I can't keep watching her die, I c-can't, I can't…"  Dean says nothing, he just presses him closer. It takes Castiel twenty minutes to calm down. Dean's t-shirt is wet from the tears and Cas keeps apologizing for making a mess, making Dean’s life a mess, while Dean keeps answering that it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to apologize, and that he’s there.

When Castiel has fully calmed down, it’s half past four. He's still wrapped up in Dean’s arms, while Dean still traces his hand in circles down his back. It should have been an uncomfortable position, but it’s not. It’s comfortable and warm. Even though neither of them would admit it out loud, it feels safe.

 “I should let you go back to sleep,” Cas whispers against Dean’s collarbone, voice soft in the dark. He hesitates, not trying to break the spell of peacefulness that is glazing over them. “I’m sorry for waking you up, it won’t happen again.”

Dean lets out a hollow laugh and the spell breaks. “Yeah Cas, it will. You still taking your meds?”

Cas sighs and nods wearily, his thick, dark brown hair tickling Dean’s skin where it’s not covered by his t-shirt.

“They can’t really stop this from happening. Then again, it’s not your problem,” Cas murmurs.

“Technically not, but I care, so it is if I want it to be.”

Dean notices how Cas’s eyes are tired, dark circles surrounding them. “It’s way too early for your sense of logic,” he says in a yawn, “Now go back to bed.”

Dean raises his eyebrow, because there it is again. The mask, the façade. “Fine.”

He untangles himself from Cas, and the world is cold again. Cas must feel it too, because he seems to shiver. Then, he gets a better idea.

“Look,” he starts, and Cas watches him, “It’s not gonna stop, is it? Not yet, maybe not ever. I know I’m not a caretaker by nature, and as you said, I shouldn’t be – but I care about you. So would you just share a bed with me? Just for tonight, and just because I can’t stand the thought of you being alone in the living room, on the fucking couch, dreaming about your sister dying.”

Cas’ expression is startled at first, but then softens. “You can’t make them go away.”

“You think I don’t know that?" Dean asks him, sounding more annoyed now, "Because I do, you know. I just don’t want you waking up alone like this, okay? What if I hadn’t woken you up?”

“It wasn’t the first time, you know,” Cas points out, shrugging.

“I know that too! I just want to stop it from happening again in a way so things won’t get better again. Ever.”

Cas presses his lips together, considers it.

Dean tries a last time. “Listen, it’s just for the rest of the night. Look at this as a trial, alright? You can go back to the couch after, if you want.”

Cas just shrugs then, giving in. He looks very tired, and maybe that’s why he ends up following Dean to the bedroom. Dean lies down, eyeing Cas as he keeps sitting up, back resting against the headboard.

“Come on, let’s sleep,” Dean says, tugging on the younger boy’s shirt. Cas swallows and seems hesitant.

“Dean?” he mutters as he lies himself down.

Dean hums something incoherent in response, eyes already closed.

“No funny business, right?” Cas asks quietly, and Dean's eyes fly open, meeting Cas’ – dark blue in the pale moonlight. “What do you-“ his mouth forms an ‘ _o_ ’ shape when he realizes. “I’m not gonna kiss you, or try anything on you, if that’s what you mean.”

Cas smiles before turning his back towards Dean. “Goodnight,” he whispers, and Dean just nods in the dark, even though the younger boy can’t see him.

No funny business. Obviously. Cas is just a friend – _his best friend who he might have sort of kissed_ — and Dean wouldn’t even think of it, not on purpose. He doesn’t deserve someone like Cas.

He feels like he’s drifting off and finally allows the sleep to wash over him.

In the morning he wakes up with his arms wrapped around Cas, who is snuggled into his chest. 

:::

The day Sam lands at the airport of Portland comes sooner than expected.  Sooner than they’d like to, actually. It’s August 21st, and it’s boiling outside. Sam comes back for a week only, regarding the fact he’s spending as much time with his girlfriend as he can before classes pick up again.

Dean’s not gonna pick him up at the airport, knowing his little brother will first drop off his luggage at their parent’s house. Castiel glances at him from the windowsill, worried look on his face as Dean paces around the room. Dean raises an eyebrow when he catches him staring and Cas quickly rushes back to his notebook. Cas must knows why Dean’s nervous, he gets it. So he falls back into silence and clenches his pencil in his hand, trying to draw.

Dean has always wanted to ask him what the hell he’s been drawing, but he suspects he already knows. Whatever the case, he’s never dared to ask about it either. It’s Cas' room of thoughts, his own way of personal space. He will show Dean when he’s ready. It’s this thing, this unspoken law that, once an artist shares his art with you, you’re so much more than just a person. It’s okay, Dean’s okay with being his own small self in Castiel’s life.

As it turns out, Sam can’t make it that day – his flight gets delayed and once his plane lands, John and Mary let him know they’ve reserved a table at some fancy restaurant as a welcome home present. When Sam calls him to tell Dean, he huffs and waves it away, but inside he’s jealous. Their parents would have never done something like that for Dean. He was just a good son, always following daddy’s orders, nothing else. After he beat –or didn’t beat, depends how people want to see it– his dad into hospital, he wasn't anything anymore.

He comes over the next day, though. Cas has _mysteriously_ disappeared. Mysteriously as in ‘ _he’s out visiting Anna at her place in Oak Hills, about twenty minutes away’_. He hasn’t seen her in a while, so technically Dean can’t blame him. He would’ve liked to have someone stand him by, in case things aren’t they same they used to be.

He thinks things will go to shit when not only Sam shows up, but John and Mary are there too.

“Sir,” Dean says curtly with a nod. In the corner of his eye, he can see Sam’s face crumbling. Dean had pulled his brother into a firm hug, but he doesn’t even attempt to be glad John’s here.

“Son,” his father says, smiling. He takes a step forward at outstretches his arms, as if to embrace him. He changes his mind at the last second, because he freezes in mid-air and his hands drop back next to his side. “I...I think we need to talk.”

:::

It went well, a bit tense at first when Dean made coffee for the four of them, but it got better after. He had thought of texting Cas for help, didn't want to interrupt in case his meeting with Anna was going well. It had been a moment of full helplessness, but Dean knew he'd have to grin and get through it.

He had sat down with the rest of his family, waiting until they started speaking. His mom was fumbling with her hair, absent smile on her face. Sam looked like he has been about to throw up, and honestly, Dean shared the feeling.

That’s what Dean tells Cas once he’s home from Oak Hills. He’s sitting on the kitchen counter, a bottle of beer dangling between his fingers. Castiel’s leaning against the fridge, a cup of earl grey tea in his hands. “But did you fix things?” he asks when Dean pauses.

Dean takes a swing and gulps it down before nodding. “Yeah, it was quite calm, actually. We talked everything out, admitted our faults to each other – all that schmoopy stuff. Dad even told me I could come back for a while if I wanted to, until I can pay for a…” He squints as he says, like he’s smelling something bad. _“...livable apartment. ”_

Cas raises his eyebrows, astonished. Panic flashes through his eyes for a second, but Dean chuckles it away. “I told them no, though. The apartment’s hella fine, and I get to have a cool roommate with it!” he beams. He sees Cas going red and looks outside of the window, his lips curled into a smile.

The apartment’s actually really fine. It’s on the top floor –only four floors though– of a long and pretty old building. It’s nice, and it’s comfortable. Maybe not that big, but it’ll do.  Dean’s not someone who actually cares about where he lives, as long as he’s got a roof above his head and a bed to sleep in at night. When his apartment caught his eye, though, he didn’t even think twice but to take the offer. He could even afford to pay the rent, and with Castiel’s job at Biggerson’s, they’ll even have extra money to spend these days.

The fact Cas lives here may have something to do with Dean’s love for the place. Don’t get him wrong, he really did love it from even before he and Cas became friends, but him actually living here gives it that little of an extra he didn’t know he needed until it was already there. Castiel doesn’t say much, and sometimes, when he’s drawing or making a cup of tea, he looks like the small and fragile patient he’d been back in Medford’s open ward. Dean occasionally finds him looking at him with a fond look, maybe withholding something more than friendship, if he's being quite honest with himself. Cas might like to pretend the kiss between them never happened, but there are times Dean can't help but recall the feel of Cas' lips against his, remember how warm Cas had felt against him.

“Dean?” Cas interrupts Dean’s thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Do they know I live here too?” Cas asks shyly.

Dean nods curtly. “I told them, _and_ they noticed your coat on the peg. They didn’t say anything about it, though, even though Sam almost choked on a pretzel.”

“Do you think Sam remembers me? After all these years of not talking?”

“Trust me,” Dean replies, pushing himself off the counter onto his feet, “You leave your marks in people’s lives. You’re hard to forget.” He smiles, and starts making his way to the bedroom but pauses by Cas’ side for a second, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Hey, I don’t know how you’re taking that, but I mean it as a good thing, okay?”

Castiel meets those green eyes and nods, licking his lips. The two boys hold each other’s gazes for a second, before they both realize the distance between them is shrinking. They break apart, each avoiding the other's eyes. “I, uh,” Dean says, blushing, “I’m going to bed. 'night Cas.” He rushes off to the bedroom, leaving Cas in the kitchen.

 He’s not gonna kiss him. He won’t kiss him. He will not kiss him.

But he wants to.

:::

It turns out the next few days that Sam _does_ remember Cas. The younger brother pops in regularly while he’s still in Portland, before he leaves back to Stanford. They still get along well, Dean notices, and it’s like he’s twelve again and seeing his younger brother play games with the black haired kid in the sandpit.

It’s fun, and he’s happy. Cas seems happy, too, and it’s one of those things Dean wants to hold onto, wants to remember.

They’re sitting at Biggerson’s on the last day of Sam’s holiday in Portland. It’s still August and technically it’s too hot for coffee, but Cas wanted them to give their new pie a try. Dean’s almost convinced he’s aiming for some sort of employee-of-the-month, but he comes along, and drags his younger brother with him.

 After almost one full week, Sam is finally elaborating on his girlfriend. Her name’s Jes –they’d met when Jess had forgotten her History books in the library, and they started studying together, to which Dean replies “My god Sam, you’re such a nerd!” Sam bounces back with a soft punch on Dean’s upper arm.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch!” Dean chuckles back.

“I’m telling you, she’s great. We’ve been dating for five months and it’s the greatest thing ever! We have so much in common, and we can talk for hours about anything!”

“That’s great, Sam, now let’s talk about something interesting!” Dean chimes, bringing his coffee to his mouth.

“Hey! Wait until you fall in love, too!” Sam replies, and Dean hopes he's the only one who sees how Sam's gaze bounces to Cas and back with that self-assured smile. "Maybe you already have," Sam adds quietly, bringing his cup to his mouth.

Sam's lucky Dean hadn't actually drunk anything yet or his younger brother would be covered in hot coffee. He turns his head slightly to the side, trying to gauge Cas' reaction, which is to go bright pink.

“I, uh, I need a cigarette,” Dean says, before stumbling from the booth and heading for the door.

“Stop smoking, you idiot!” both Cas and Sam call after him at the same time as Dean pushes through the door and exits into the summer sun. 

He stands there, face tilted up towards the sky, trying to calm the racing of his heart. Because it's not what Sam implied that is making him panic. It's that what he said was true.

He realizes that now, even though it’s been hanging in the back of his head for a while. Cas doesn’t even feel like a best friend, he feels like _so much more_.

It’s a sign he’s about to fuck things up.

:::

Dean doesn’t actually expect Cas to turn up in his room that night. Even though nobody has mentioned Sam’s remark since it happened, he’s still surprised when he feels the younger boy crawling under the covers next to him.

They’re both tired, after such a long day. Sundays should’ve been used for sleeping and lounging and for sleeping and lounging only. But Dean’s glad he’s spent a lot of time with Sam this past week, and he’s glad Sam and Cas still get along as well as they used to. Secretly, he’s also glad things are okay with his parents again, too. He feels like he’s finally picking up the pieces and putting them back together. They dropped Sam off at PDX about an hour ago to catch the last flight to San Francisco, where he’ll be spending a few days with Jess’ family. Both Dean and Cas had to promise to visit him and Jess soon, and it doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea.

It’s past midnight now, and Dean can’t seem to fall asleep. Especially not now that Cas is so close next to him, not saying anything.

The older boy grunts as he turns onto his side, facing away from Cas. He’s about to drift off to sleep when he feels him poking his spine. “Dean?” Cas asks, hesitant.

“Hmmmyeah?” Dean hums, knowing what’s coming.

“What was the whole thing with Sam back in the afternoon? It…it was something about...falling in love?”

Dean sighs as he turns around, facing Cas. Their faces are so close together, almost brushing noses, and Dean can feel Cas' breath all minty fresh from toothpaste tickling his skin. “I’m gonna explain you something,” Dean whispers, “but you have to promise you’re not gonna hate me for it. Understand?”

Cas nods in the dark, his silhouette visible in the pale moonlight.

“So,” Dean says, and he’s convinced this will be a mistake, but technically he’s started it. There’s no turning back again. “We first met, when? I think you were six or something? And you were playing with Sammy on a playground near your primary school. You were my brother’s childhood friend, nothing more. I didn’t even know your name until-” he swallows, “until I pushed you against that locker a few years back, and it shouldn’t have been a big deal but _it was_.”

Dean pauses, making sure Castiel’s not already begging him to stop. It’s quiet, so he continues.

“You were nothing to me back then. And then after I graduated my life went to shit because I let down my parents and I thought my own damn brother hated me and I started drinking, Cas, I started drinking to a point where I could barely see. I got into that fist fight, and ended up doing that dumb service at Medford, and you were there. You know the rest,” Dean ends with a dismissive gesture.

“I don’t understand,” Cas answers, voice in a hushed tone. He curls up his knees and they touch Dean’s, but neither of them move away. “I don’t understand the point of it.”

Dean presses his lips together, tries to gather his thoughts before continuing. “First you were nothing, and then in Medford you became my friend, I guess. But now, I don’t- maybe you’re my best friend, and maybe…” He trails off.

“Maybe what?” Cas insists, and Dean curls his fists in the blankets, legs pulling away from Cas' beneath the covers.

“I think Sam could be right, okay?" he blurts out, voice loud in the otherwise quiet of the night. "What he said. I- if it keeps going like this, I might fall in love with you. I might fall in love with you and I’m not sure you want that because I…you deserve so much Cas and I'm just…” Dean stops when he feels two warm hands on either side of his face.

“Hey, look,” Cas tells him, “I don’t think I’m ready for falling in love again, not after Crowley, but…” The younger boys leans forward a bit, their lips almost touching, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t know," Cas says after a moment, words barely audible, "Let’s just test the waters, let’s see how far we can go before it’s too much.”

"I…" Dean stops for a moment, tries to push the words out. "I don't want you to get hurt Cas."

Cas hums to himself, and is quiet for a moment, every second torturing Dean. Finally, he says, “I know it's not like me, but I want to. Try, that is. Because I think we must be something, right? And if it doesn’t work out, we’ll go back to how we were before, right?”

Dean doubts that will happen, doubts he'll ever be able to have Cas like that without screwing it up, and be lucky to keep him after that. But he nods anyway, eyes closing. He hears the sheets rustle as Cas shifts closer, and then Cas is kissing him, soft and hesitant. Dean sighs in relief, because as long as he has this, he's going to enjoy it, and connects their lips again, slowly opening his mouth, drawing Cas in. Every particle in his body is screaming at him that this is a bad idea, that it will never work and he'll just lose Cas permanently when he inevitably screws this up, but he doesn’t say anything because Cas is kissing him, thumb tracing along Dean’s jaw.

Cas is kissing him, and it’s peaceful, and it’s perfect. Worry can wait.


	9. I'm Sure Now

_“I might fall in love with you.”_

It still keeps playing in Castiel’s head, like a mantra – on and on. It’s been doing that for two months now, like something in his brain keeps reminding him that _someone_ cares. In this case, that someone is Dean.

Even though it’s been a while now, Castiel still thinks about it. He sometimes believes the kiss still lingers on his lips and Castiel shivers when he thinks about it. It didn’t stay at one kiss, though. Dean and him have been messing around ever since then – seeing how far either of them can go before it’s too much. And it’s going well, too well.

It’s a cold night, around the middle of October, and neither of them can sleep, so Cas guides Dean towards the living room. “I want to show you something, Dean.”

Dean raises his eyebrows as Cas takes the notebook from the coffee table and hands it to him. “It’s, uh, this is what I draw.”

Dean’s hesitant when he takes it, like Cas is about to call him back for it. Cas says nothing – he’s ready.

The other boy goes through the pages, holding his breath. It’s gorgeous, almost real beneath his fingertips. “Cas, I-, this is… _wow_!” Dean beams. Cas knows he sees his own face multiple times -- his freckles, the little spots of a different color in his eyes, even his eye crinkles. He knows Dean sees Crowley too, even though it brings Cas a bit of pain.

Cas watches as Dean carefully flicks every page with care, like the paper is made out of porcelain. “You’d be a good art student, Cas, I mean it,” Dean adds. Before Cas can reply, the older boy kisses him deeply.

"Thanks for showing me," Dean whispers against his lips when they break apart. Cas just smiles, and lets Dean kiss him, again and again and again.

:::

Life picks up a routine between the both of them. They fall asleep on the couch together, legs tangled together. They cuddle when either of them is having a bad day – mostly it’s Cas, who’s had a bad stream of thoughts, and Dean kissing him until he’s breathless.

It brings up confusion too, though. They’re coming to a point where they’re gonna have to come up with a label. They’re best friends, right? Best friends who kiss sometimes and touch places no one’s supposed to touch unless you’re…

_Unless you’re doing more than just testing._

:::                          

Castiel wakes up with two strong arms wrapped around him. He knows it’s Dean immediately. He turns around, letting Dean’s arms wrap him up. He nuzzles his face into the older boy’s chest, inhaling his smell. It’s a benefit, really, that Dean never smells bad.

Dean opens his eyes slowly, gaze immediately flickering to Cas’ face. “Mornin’,” he croaks, voice heavy with sleep.

“Hey,” Cas whispers back, before pulling Dean’s head down in a long, lazy kiss. They lose track of time, exploring each other with their lips. It’s lazy and slow, and it’s perfect. Cas vaguely feels Dean’s hand under his t-shirt, his fingers curl and uncurl against his warm skin. Castiel arches his back, not breaking the kiss.

Dean’s the one who breaks it, leaning back and taking a breath. “Someone’s in a good mood today,” he chuckles, combing his hair with his fingers. The sun’s high up the sky already, and they probably should get up, but they don’t. Once Dean even tries to step one foot out of the bed, Castiel pulls him back into a kiss, causing Dean to groan and give in again for another ten minutes of lazily making out, and so on.

“We should get up,” the older boy whispers and Castiel just shakes his head. It’s too early, and the moment is too perfect, to let it all get ruined by another day at war with the world. He doesn’t even know where the feeling comes from, but he’s in a good mood, and he doesn’t want to feel bad just yet.

“Oh, okay. I see how it is,” Dean answers when he feels Cas tugging on his shirt, pulling him back into the mattress. He’s more awake now, and there’s more and more energy in the kisses.

Cas says nothing, and nothing’s enough. They’re talking with their bodies, no words necessary. Dean’s kissing him and the world around them dissolves, like he’s floating.

He feels how Dean lays back down, back pressed into the mattress as his hips arch up a bit. His hands roam Castiel’s back as he pulls the younger boy on top of him.

They’re crossing limits. This isn’t even testing the waters anymore, this is diving into a deep, unexplored part of the ocean. They’ve done… _things_ before, really. Handjobs, blow jobs, but those were things he'd experienced with Crowley before. This is something new altogether.

He places his legs on either side of Dean’s, at the level of his hips, before leaning forward and crashing their mouths together again. They both know this isn’t like Cas at all, he’s mostly the one who rather spends his time with his back pressed to Dean’s chest as they’re lying on the couch, fingers intertwined, breathing as one. Dean knows that Castiel rather spends his time making detailed sketches of Dean’s long and bony fingers, making sure he doesn’t miss a freckle. Dean knows, which is why he’s letting out a surprised groan, followed by a soft moan.

Cas does it unconsciously, but he makes a movement with his hips, rolling them against Dean’s. He feels how Dean stops breathing for a second, before his hands fumble at the hem of Cas’ The Beatles t-shirt. The older boy bucks his hips, rubbing his crotch against Cas’, who finally allows himself to let out a muffled cry of pleasure. He’s getting hard, and he’s trying to ignore the nervous feeling bubbling inside him, because here he is dry humping like a freshman with no one less than Dean Winchester.

Dean makes a strong move and switches positions, causing Cas to lie on his back, Dean straddling him. He breaks the kiss and leans back, putting his hands on Cas’ chest, fumbling with the cotton of his t-shirt. “You know what this is turning in to, don’t you?” he whispers, eyes dark.

Cas bites his lip and nods, before closing his eyes. “Yep.”

Dean leans forward and pecks the younger boy’s lips, leaving him with cold and exposed feeling once he pulls away again.

“You’ve done this before?”

Cas shakes his head. “I…I was supposed to? With Cro-with my ex. But I didn’t.”

“Do you wanna do this?” Dean whispers, not moving, only watching, “Because I can wait y’know. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, I can wait, I will wa-” he gets cut off by Cas tugging at his chin and bringing his mouth back down.

“I want to, okay. Because it’s you. I trust you.”

Dean keeps him pinned down as he undoes Cas’ shirt and kisses his bare chest. Cas’ hands come up to the hem of Dean’s top, pulling at it to give the other boy a hint. Dean smiles and takes his own shirt off as well.

It sounds a little awkward, especially through the buzzing he hears in his ears, but Cas asks it anyway. “Can I bottom? It’s just – I’m not experienced and, you know,” he trails off, and Dean just pecks him on the lips.

“Yeah, it’s good, it’s okay,” he gets off of Cas and starts fumbling with the boy’s pants.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay? Tell me if you want me to sto-” Dean’s concerned words get interrupted by Cas’ foot almost kicking him in the face.

“Dean, just, just do it!” Cas hisses. He’s fully hard now, and if Dean really doesn’t want to hurt him, he’d better do something about it.

“I just wanted to make sure!” Dean replies before carefully undoing Cas’ pants. He’s leaking through his boxers, he notices, but he can’t bring himself to care. He feels like his head’s stuffed with cotton, and he can’t think straight.

They’re both fully naked before properly realizing it – Dean’s pants and boxers dropped to the floor as well. Cas feels so vulnerable like this, and he closes his eyes when he hears Dean gasp.

“I knew you were gorgeous, but this, _woah_ , and it isn’t even the first time I’ve seen you naked,” he hears Dean say, and suddenly Cas feels how his inner thigh is being kissed.

“I know we messed around before, Cas, but this different. I want it to be different. Want to make this good,” Dean whispers between kisses.

Dean grabs Cas’ cock, and gives it a few pumps, until it’s fully hard. This part isn’t new for Cas, since they’ve done that before.

“You’re so pretty, Cas,” Dean murmurs, his other hand tracing over the younger boy’s chest. He can see how the older boy’s glance goes up and down his body, and he feels exposed. He should be uncomfortable, but this is Dean, and in the way his hands are touching him as gently as he can, he isn’t. “You’re so pretty and I’m gonna take care of you, alright? I’m gonna take care of you.”

Dean shifts a little backwards and looks as Cas steadies himself, lifting himself up a bit.

Cas can hear Dean shift, and suddenly he feels how his tongue is tracing the his inner thigh agai,. He hears himself whimper as Dean carefully licks at the entrance of his hole.

“I…I...need lube,” Dean pants as he reaches up again, “Cas? Top drawer.”

Castiel obeys immediately, making sure he doesn’t move his body too much. His arm finds the top drawer, and he rummages in it until he finds the bottle. He shoves it into Dean’s hand and gets rewarded with a soft kiss on the lips.

“Gonna try to make this good for you. Gonna make sure you’re never gonna forget this,” Dean’s breath ghosts over Cas’ mouth and the younger boy whimpers as he feels one finger get pushed in. Dean enters and exits it slowly, drawing a moan out of him, wrecked and low.

One finger becomes two, and two become three, and by the time Dean finds Cas’ prostate, his whole body’s already jerking and arching with want and need and lust and he has to have Dean inside him because he _can’t stand_ it any longer.

He needs to touch himself, but when he brings his hand up to stroke his cock, Dean gently slaps it away. “No,” he says, breathless, “Not now. Today, today I want to take care of you. Me alone.”

“But D-dean!” Cas whimpers in response, “Dean! H-hurry!”

“So needy, Cas, so needy for me,” Dean smirks before kissing him, and when he pulls back his face is serious again. “You still wanna do this, right? Are you sure, are you c-”

Castiel moans and nods, tears of pleasure filling his eyes. “Do it, do- do it!”

Dean kisses Cas once more, before reaching for the top drawer himself and pulling out a condom.

Cas’ breathing must be really uneven, because once the condom is on, Dean stops to stare at Cas before using the lubricant once more. “Hey, hey, don’t be scared, just tell me when I’m hurting you,” he brushes his thumb along Cas’ lower lip. “Just follow my lead, okay?”

Cas nods, and willingly spreads his legs a bit so Dean can put them into place. Dean hovers over Cas, kissing him deeply. “You ready?” he asks a bit insecure, for the last time.

Cas’ reply is incoherent, but Dean gets the message, apparently, because the next thing he knows is Dean carefully pushing himself inside. The younger boy throws his head back a bit, and something between a whimper and a whine escapes his mouth.

“Does it hurt?” Dean whispers when he’s fully sheathed into Cas. He earns a shrug in reply. “It’s okay, it’s o-Dean, just, _move_ , or something.”

Cas hooks his ankles around Dean’s back, closing his eyes when Dean starts moving.

Dean reaches for Cas’ hands, who are resting on the pillow behind his head, and entangles his own with them, giving them a light squeeze. Dean pulls his cock out, and back in. It doesn’t take long before they find a steady rhythm, the only sounds in the room coming from their heavy breathing and their own whimpering sounds.

It feels great, sex, and Cas is glad it’s Dean. Because Dean’s gently rocking his hips back and forth as Cas rolls his hips, meeting his thrust. His whole body feels electrified, and he whimpers when Dean’s lips find their way to Cas’ neck and chest, two body parts he covers in hickeys. “I want them,” he manages to bring out between various thrusts, “want everyone to know that you’re mine, Cas.”

“Dean, I’- I’m gonna c-” Cas can’t even finish his sentence before coming all over himself, his loudest moan yet filling the room. It takes Dean three more thrusts before the younger boy can feel him coming, too. Dean pulls out and collapses on Cas’ body, panting heavily.

He never lets go of Cas’ hands.

:::

They lay still on the bed together, limbs entangled. It’s already past noon, but neither of the boys want to get up. Cas ended up in Dean’s arms again, and is tracing figures on his chest. It’s quiet, and neither Dean or Cas want to break the spell surrounding them, as if they’re scared to. They must, though.

“Was that okay?” Dean asks at last.

He feels the buzzing of Cas’s head buried in his neck, and realizes it’s a laugh and the 'hmmmmmm' followed by it.

“Hey Cas?”

“Yeah?”

“It happened.”

Castiel pushes himself up to look at Dean, whose mouth is parted a little bit, like he wasn’t done talking yet.

“What happened?”

“I – uh –,” the older boy puts his right hand behind his head. His eyes don’t meet Cas’, but stay focused on the ceiling. “I am one hundred percent convinced that I’m in love with you, Cas. I love you.”

It’s quiet for a moment as Cas lays back down in Dean’s arm, their bodies meeting again. Cas can feel himself being icy calm, and silent, but his insides are bubbling with warmth. Dean’s tense, he can feel it.

“I love you, too.”

And life may go on, the earth may not stop spinning; but their world does, even if it’s just for a minute.

:::

Time flies, and it all goes wrong in November.

Cas has been busy trying to get his engineering degree, and honestly, it doesn’t work well that way. The classes don’t catch his attention as they should, and he keeps drawing things on his worksheets.

One thing in particular. _Dean._

Castiel hasn’t had much time to properly sketch recently, since college is taking the best of him. He’s either busy with another dumb project, or working at Biggerson’s coffee shop to pay for his tuition – since he didn’t get a paid scholarship. Dean rolls his eyes whenever the younger boy complains about it, saying he should’ve applied for San Francisco’s Art College. When Castiel shrugs, the other boy adds that, eventually, there’s always next semester.

They don’t talk about it often, if they must be realistic, because Castiel shoves the topic away. He likes sketching, likes drawing things – he likes being an artist, but he hates knowing Rachel loved him like that, too.

He comes home from college one day, later than expected. It’s a Friday night and the house is quiet. They’re predicting snow for the weekend, which is early for this year. Dean has to work tonight, because it’s the weekend after Thanksgiving – a holiday Dean and Cas celebrated by ordering Chinese food and lazily making love on the couch after dinner while they tried to watch Star Wars reruns – and the pubs are more crowded with younger people the few days after Thanksgiving. Students still want to spend some time with their siblings before they leave for their college of choice again, and where to do that better than in a pub?

Dean’s parents had invited him and even Castiel along to visit Sam at Stanford. They had booked a table at a restaurant, but Dean had politely declined the offer, saying he had wanted to spend it with Cas.

Cas had no plans, because Gabe had been with Kali’s family and Anna had been invited over to Nebraska, where Jo and her mother now have taken over the old pub Bill Harvelle, Ellen’s deceased husband, used to run.

So Castiel comes home that particular Friday night, warms up the leftovers from yesterday, takes a shower, and sits down on the couch, hair still a bit dank. Twin Peaks is on rerun, but he can’t find himself to concentrate on the plot. His fingers itch, and he finds himself drawing shapes with his fingers on his knee.

He decides it’s time to sketch again, and besides, it’s been a while, why shouldn’t he?

He knows his notebook is in the middle drawer next to the bed, but when Castiel opens it, he doesn’t find anything except for the pencils and crayons he always uses. He tries the drawer under it, and the one above it. Nothing.

He looks in his closet, the shelf in the living room, even the bathroom doesn’t get skipped by his search. He doesn’t remember taking it anywhere with him these days, not even to his classes. He used to bring it everywhere, for when things got bad and he needed a distraction, but lately he’d been so caught up in work and in Dean his bad days started to go away. He had felt like he’d been building up a future, stone by stone, but losing the notebook still makes him feel like the stone structure is crumbling again, even just a bit.

There’s one drawer he hasn’t checked yet, and he’s starting to feel anxious. No way that the little book is in Dean’s drawer, no freaking way.

He opens the drawer and holds his breath when he does in fact see the light green shade of the book. And that’s not everything. Something pearl white catches his eye though, and he knows this is probably Dean’s stuff, but then he sees how SFAI is printed in curly letters on the left side of the paper. San Francisco Art Institute.

He opens it without thinking, his eyes frantically scanning over the words.

_“Dear Mr. Novak,_

_We have received your artwork portfolio and are surprised to admit that it has exceeded our expectations for this second semester's applicants. We hereby grant you a special scholarship that grants youths with exceptional talents a chance to study at our establishment. We hereby invite you to join us at our school for the second semester of this school year starting in January. Seeing as you've missed the first half of it, you will have to take special courses to catch up with your fellow classmates. We look forward to working with you in the class schedule provided below._

_Sincerely, C. Wyatt, head of the admissions office”_

He closes the letter in awe. Dean did this for Cas, for him, and maybe he _knows_ he should be happy about it, but he isn’t really. If Cas takes the chance, and maybe he will, he’s leaving Dean behind, because Dean’s made it clear how much he loves Portland.

It’s almost like Dean’s sending him away.

It’s almost like Dean doesn’t need him.


	10. Cold as Snow

_And so it goes. It goes wrong in November. They break in November. It’s cold outside, and the weather forecast had predicted snow for the weekend, but the snow never came. They break up in November, because Dean comes home to find Castiel sobbing on the couch, the letter from SFAI clutched into his hands, the black notebook on the table._

The older boy comes in and freezes at the door, a smile creeping up on his face. Cas apparently seems so happy he’s crying. He _knew_ the younger boy wanted this chance, and now Dean’s bringing it him on a golden plate.

He walks over to the younger boy and listens as he hears his sobbing cut off and his body stiffen. “Hey babe-” Dean starts, but Cas cuts him off by jumping up, the letter still clenched in his fist. His blue eyes look frantically between Dean and the door, as if he’s planning an escape in his head. Dean honestly doesn’t know why.

“What’s- Cas? What’s wrong?” Dean asks, and Castiel laughs through his tears.

“If you wanted me gone you just could’ve told me, you know,” Cas replies, and in that moment Dean swears his face actually crumbles. He holds up the letter, “You didn’t have to arrange me a fucking scholarship to send me away.”

Dean holds his hands up. Doesn’t he _understand_? “I was trying to give you the future you really want!”

“By sending me away, off to a future that died next to Rachel’s in that car crash!”

Dean should’ve seen this coming, and he should’ve told Cas his notebook was being sent off to one of the best art schools of San Francisco, if not all of the United States. He should have known this was something between Rachel and him, but Dean didn’t bother. He wants Castiel to be happy, in memoriam of his sister. But Dean just couldn’t tell him, knowing Cas would have to leave him behind then.

As if right on cue, the younger boy asks: “Were you planning to come along with me, Dean? Would you, if I ask?”

Dean shrugs. “I don’t think I belong in your future, Cas. I have loved you, and I love you now, and I will love you then, but you can do better than me.”

“And how do you know _that?_ ”

“Because you’re gonna be an artist and I’ll always be a waiter without a decent education. You can see the world, Cas. Don’t wait for me.”

Cas finally stands a bit straighter, looking shocked. “That’s bullshit. No, no Dean, _you_ do. You don’t deserve to be a caretaker, let alone actually act like one.”

“I’m not a caretaker! You know what Cas?” Dean hisses as he takes a step closer, he’s becoming a mix of pissed off and disappointed, and he’s a whole lot confused, “In my whole life there have been two people I genuinely, one hundred percent cared about, and I had to let the first one go to Stanford to chase his dreams and become a lawyer. And now I’m having to let the second one go too, off to San Francisco to become the artist he deserves to be. You know what? That’s okay, because others are happy. If the people I care about are happy, why should I stay around?”

It’s weird, he thinks, because it’s the truth. All these years of pretending to be Dean _careless slash badass_ Winchester, crumbling down. For what?

Castiel takes a step sideways, “What I don’t understand is why you’re doing this now? Am I too clingy, are you getting tired of me already?” It’s obvious Cas doesn’t wanna hear it anymore. He glances at Dean one last time before shooting to the right and walking towards the door.

“I get it. It’s fine. I should’ve seen this coming,” he adds, before opening it, walking out, and slamming it shut.

He didn’t even take his trench coat with him.

_They break up in November._

:::

The next day, Dean comes home from Bobby’s garage, where he helps a hand during the weekends. Cas didn’t come home last night, and Dean just figures he needed some cooling down. Since he couldn’t get to Gabriel, who’s still with Kali’s family back in Indiana, he probably took the bus to Anna’s house and crashed there for a night. He’ll be back soon, and knowing Cas, it’s better to leave him be for a moment when he’s angry. They can talk about it when he comes back home.

 A surprise awaits him when he enters the apartment and finds all of Castiel’s stuff gone. No note on the table, not anything that explains where he’s staying now. Just one sheet of paper, clearly ripped out of the notebook. It’s a drawing of the silhouettes of two boys looking at each other under a bedroom window Dean recognizes as their own. It’s A4 format, and drawn with great detail.  It’s them. It’s them and Cas is gone. Dean thinks that maybe, it’s for the best. Except it isn’t.

And it’s all because he screwed up.

Cas has been here, and he’s made his choice. And damn right he was, but something stings Dean. He knows he doesn’t deserve Cas, but it tears him apart to see it end like this. It’s happened before, the first time when Dean was sixteen and an idiot, and six months ago, when Dean was twenty-one and even a bigger idiot, and now, Dean is still twenty-one and he doesn’t feel guilty about giving Cas the future, he just feels sad the younger boy thrusted it right back at him.

Two times he’s screwed up, maybe, but no, he isn’t gonna make it three.

He reaches for his phone. The recipient picks up after the fourth ring.

“Anna, hi. Can I please talk to Cas for a second?”

It’s silent on the other side of the line for just a second. He hears a bed creaking, followed by the sound of Anna’s confused voice. “Dean? What are you talking about? I’m still in Nebraska, with Jo, who is,” she laughs, “pathetically waving right now.”

Dean lets out a small cry, because if he isn’t at Anna’s, nor at Gabe’s, and his stuff is gone…he’s…

_No._

“Dean?” Anna’s voice echoes in his ears, and it seems like a century has passed since the laugh he’d heard her burst out just a few moments ago. “Dean? Is something wrong?”

He can feel how he starts crying.

:::

It’s six in the morning when Dean finds him. He hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten since he hung up after an hour long phone call with Anna and Jo. Dean had explained the whole situation, to which Cas’ cousin had replied it brings back memories of Rachel. She was right, but it’s too late. Dean thought Cas had to have gone back to Medford. He had rushed over there, at 10:30 in the evening, mind you. Hester was still there, and after Dean tried to ask for Castiel Novak as calm as possible, she had shaken her head, patted his shoulder, and continued doing her work.

So if he wasn’t there, where would he be, then?

He searched everywhere around Portland, and trust him, the city is _huge_. He looked in places where they’ve been before – the coffee shop, the library, Anna’s neighborhood, even the art museum they went to back in September – and the places they were meant to go together. It’s hopeless.

He ended up at the playground, but Castiel apparently didn’t. He looked everywhere, but Cas is gone. Gone.

Dean heads back to the coffee shop around five-thirty in the damn morning, where he orders himself a decaf. Bless twenty-four hour service.

Eve, the girl who takes the night shifts, raises her eyebrows as she puts the liquid down on Dean’s table. He must look horrible, he admits that’s a fact, with purple-ish bags under his eyes, his face filled with dirt – he didn’t properly shower after work – and the marks of dried up tears. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried so hard about something. He didn’t even cry when his ex broke up with him, and he’d been sure Lisa had been the love of his life.

“Hey, you’re Dean Winchester, right? We used to have biology together.”

Dean nods, says “I remember,” and hopes the conversation’s over. Apparently it isn’t, because Eve slides into the chair across from him. Dean looks around, but the coffee shop is empty.

“Look,” she says, “I can see you’re not okay. Is it because of, you know, Castiel?”

Dean’s eyes light up, and then he remembers they’re colleagues. “Cas?”

Eve nods. “He came in earlier tonight, or last night, I should say. Looked just as bad as you.” Her eyes scan his face. “No offense.”

“Do you know where he is now?” Dean shoots up.

“I don’t know, he…he didn’t even order anything. He came in and wanted to get to work before we had to tell him he doesn’t have a shift this weekend. So he muttered something about a girl, I think?”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “A girl?”

“Her name was, damn, what was it? Rachel, perhaps?”

Dean thinks about it. There’s one place in the whole city he hasn’t looked. One place.

“Eve!” he semi-shrieks, before swallowing the rest of his coffee down in one gulp, “Eve! You’re an angel!”

Eve just looks confused as Dean throws a twenty dollar bill on the table. “Keep the change, it's all yours. Thank you!” And before the young waitress can reply, he’s already out the door.

:::

It seems colder, somehow. And maybe snow’s still coming. It’s freezing, Dean knows that much. The grass and leaves crunch under his feet as he steps on them, and he shivers.

Graveyards have always been creepy, but now, at six in the goddamn morning, it’s worse. Dean doesn’t know where Rachel’s grave is, but through the frost on the grass he’s found footsteps that aren’t his own. He follows them, all the way to the back of the yard.

He hears Castiel before he sees him. It’s quiet, but it’s certainly him. The sun is already rising, and the sky is a lighter shade of blue than it was an hour ago. He sees the younger boy’s silhouette, back pressed against the back of a gravestone. Cas is shivering, and he’s pulled a blanket over himself.

“Cas?” Dean whispers a bit insecure.

The younger boy looks up, and right there, he looks so much older. It seems like he’s aged along with all the bodies underground right now. “Why are you here?” he answers, voice colder than the ground he’s standing on.

“I came to talk.”

“Can’t you see I’m spending time with my sister?”

“Fine. I’ll talk to Rachel, then,” Dean says, walking over to Cas’ older sister’s gravestone and sitting in front of it.

He sees Cas’ belongings, just the one backpack and his notebook, on the ground next to a statue a few inches further. He shakes his head, concentrating on Castiel, who’s behind him, still leaning against the back of a grave from another row.

“Rachel. Hi, uh, I know you’re not – you know. I know we never really talked but, you’re were the cousin of my friend Anna, weren’t you? Anyway, there’s this thing I have to tell you.”

He gets greeted by a gasp from behind, and he knows Cas is listening. “So a few months back I fell in love with your brother, I know right? Who would’ve expected that. But I did, and I fell hard,” he takes a deep breath, “You know Cas, thinking he’s not good enough, but he is. He- he’s enough for me, and,” Dean bites his lip.

“…that’s why I had to let him go.”

He hears Cas’ muffled cry behind him, but doesn’t stop.

“So I kind of stole his notebook one day when I was cleaning the bedroom, and his art is amazing, let me tell you. He showed me once, and I was _speechless_. I didn’t mean to, it just happened,” his breathing fastens, and he starts stuttering. “N-now, Cas is actually a really stubborn dick who would rather freeze himself to death in a graveyard, than do what he really- what he really wants to do, so I did- I undertook action. I sent the notebook along with an application letter to this fancy school in San Francisco, and guess what, he got a scholarship. And it’s good, it’s great, because he gets to have a future. He gets to leave this past of him, gets to…”

He clenches his fist when the tears come.

“He gets to, to leave me, behind. It’s for the best, isn’t it, Rachel? Because we’re both shitty human beings for hurting the ones we care about, and even though you did, I don’t deserve Cas.”

“You don’t,” Cas whispers behind him, “you deserve better.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean answers, his voice only a whisper. His back is still turned towards Cas, but he hears the other boy cry.

They stand there like that for a while. In the cold, both facing the grave of _Rachel Novak – beloved daughter and sister. Taken from us too soon._

 Dean turns around at last, repeating the words “Don’t say that,” to Cas’ face this time.

“Don’t say that I deserve better when you’re the best thing that could happen. Stop bullshitting, Cas.”

Cas, still on the cold and hard ground, presses his eyes shut for a moment. “I don’t know what to do, Dean.”

“Neither do I.”

He somehow manages to get Cas to stand up and follow him towards the car. Dean convinces him to get coffee with him, and they’ll talk about it eventually. He thinks they’re alright, but they’re really not.

They’re passing the playground when Dean tries to reach for Cas’ hand and the other boy freezes. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t do this. Don’t push me off to somewhere I don’t want to be without you to then grab my hand and pull me back. Just don’t, okay?”

Dean takes a deep breath, tears welling up in his eyes. “It isn’t like that!”

“I don’t think I want to know how it is!” Cas answers, raising both hands into the air, “If you wanted to get rid of me you could’ve just told me because now I'm in love with you and I’m alone and _you don't want me anymore_!” Cas stops, chest heaving, eyes fastened on Dean's face even with the tears welling in their corners. Dean reaches out again, tries to take his hand, but Cas jerks away.

“I do, I do! I want all of you!" Dean pleads, voice getting louder with each word, "But you’re not happy, studying for a degree you don’t want just to please your asshole father!” Dean is really yelling right now, and thank God it’s six am and no one but Cas is around to see the tears stream down his face.

“Have you ever considered that maybe…” Cas starts, and Dean sees he’s really crying too now, “That I was happy. Because you were there. I don’t want to sound like we’re some sort of cheesy love story or something, because we aren’t, we’re far from it. But it’s true, you made me, better, in some way.”

It’s silent for a second, just the two of them staring at each other in the dusk, before Castiel clears his throat and mutters, “Well isn’t this shit.” His voice is hoarse, and he sounds a bit like choking. “Now I’ve got a fancy scholarship starting in January at a _fucking_ art school and I don’t even know what to do with it because _you're_ not gonna be there.”

Dean blinks a few times as Castiel brushes a hand through his own hair. “And the reason I am gonna be there is because you sent me there.”

Dean sticks his hands in his pockets, doesn't meet Cas' eyes as he mumbles, “I want you to be happy, alright, Cas? And I know you won’t be the kind of happy you deserve when you’re with me.”

Cas scoffs, and his voice when he replies is resigned. “Has it ever occurred to you that you just really don't get it? Because every time I ask someone to stay in my life they always leave and now you push me away. Rachel, Crowley, and just…I never wanted to ask you to stay into my life, Dean, because I knew you wouldn’t. Look where we are now.”

Dean opens his mouth, to reply, and closes it again when his words fail him Their silence weighs down on them, and Dean realizes it's started to snow. “Cas, you- is this what it’s about? You’re upset because—because,” Dean doesn’t finish the sentence. He strides across the distance between them, until their faces are inches apart.“Just, it’s been so clear and I still didn’t see it.”

Castiel cocks his head to the side, confused now. “See what?”

“ _This_. You know what I want, Cas, you know I want you." Dean holds his arms out in supplication. "It’s just, selfish to ask, and this isn’t me, because I never get to keep things and I know that neither did you, which is why I sent your notebook off so SFAI...because you get to keep what you build there.”

Castiel just blinks a few times, biting his lip. “Dean,” he says, as he lays a hand on Dean’s wet cheek. The snowflakes settle on their noses, their eyelashes, dotting them with white. “I’m not even gonna ask.”

Dean leans in to the touch, closing his eyes. “I know where this is going and you should know that I love you. And I know I push people away. And I know that I’m a mess.” He pauses, opening his eyes again. Emerald green meeting ice blue. “So if you don’t ask, I will.”

Cas’ breath hitches in the back of his throat, and Dean just shakes just head.

“I want you to go to that art college, build a future, but just…just stay, then. Stay in my life okay? Because…because I love you, Cas. And I need you to stay. I don’t care where we’re going, and I’m- god, Cas, I’m sorry if you though I wanted you gone because it’s you. I fucked up.”

But then, they’re kissing again. They’re kissing and it’s snowing down around them, a curtain of white cutting them off from the world. And both of their faces are wet, not only from the snow but their tears, and  they’re both crying now, and smiling, and shivering and kissing and it's dark all around them but Cas breathes 'Stay with me,' into Dean's mouth before Cas squeezing his eyes shut. Dean nods, before Cas kisses him again. He'll stay.

 


	11. Epilogue

It’s been three years. Three years since that notorious November night. Three years since they fell apart and puzzled each other back together.

It’s been three years and they live in San Francisco now, where Dean found a full-time job as a mechanic. A job that even pays well.

They live in San Francisco, in an apartment they actually just bought, instead of renting it. Because it felt right, because they knew right away this is where they would spend their lives.

It’s pretty big, and it’s in the center of the city, but still close enough to see the golden gate bridge, a monument that Castiel still occasionally draws, even though he already spends all of his days drawing now.

They’re happy now, at last. They haven’t been happy for a while, but now things are settling down. It’s been hard, the two of them living together here, maybe even harder than it was back in Portland, but they’re older, and they’re wiser. And even though the past isn’t really gone, there’s a future waiting for them.

Cas convinced Dean to stop smoking that much, because his lung capacity matters now, because if he can spend a few more years with him, that’s what it takes.

Castiel can finally fall asleep, and the nightmares have stopped entirely. And their nights are quiet...well _, sometimes_ they are.

It’s November again. It’s November again and it’s been three years, but Dean decides it’s time for something else. Which is why he takes Cas back to Portland for a few days. They’ve just celebrated Thanksgiving in Palo Alto, where Sam and Jess have their own place now; but instead of going back to San Francisco, Dean has other plans.

They return to their old hometown, and they visit Gabe and his pregnant fiancé, Kali. They even see Anna, who isn’t dating anyone but has convinced Jo to move in with her for a while. They visit Dean’s parents, who he hasn’t seen in three months. They even run into Hester once, and she smiles and nods politely.

They stay for five days, and before they leave, Dean asks Cas to take a walk with him.

They end up on the playground, the place of the good and the bad memories, of first kisses, first promises.

It’s where Dean sits down on one of the swings one last time, waiting until Cas sits down on the one next to him before he clears his throat.

“So here we are.”

Cas nods, and Dean gets it, because this is a emotional place for both of them, good and bad.

“I think, uh, I think I need to tell you something, Cas.”

Panic flashes through Cas’ eyes, as far as Dean can see it, and the young man tenses. It doesn’t stop Dean from saying what he wants to say. “We’ve been together for some time now, and I have loved you dearly since the start, and I still love you dearly, and…”

The swing creaks.

“…I think it’s time we move on.”

Cas jumps up abruptly, turning towards Dean. “Are you seriously breaking up with me?”

Dean raises his eyebrows as he gets up himself, shaking his head and smiling. “No, no! Just, just let me finish, okay?”

Cas doesn’t move and doesn’t say anything either, and Dean takes that as his cue to continue. “Look, I think it’s time to move on. And that’s why I, uh...”

“That’s why….?” Castiel prompts, still unaware as Dean reaches for the little box in his back pocket.

“That’s why I’m asking you to, uh…" He smiles as he pops the box open, watches Cas' face go from confusion to disbelief to joy. "…to marry me.”

Silence falls over the woods, as gentle as snow. The world seems to have stopped turning, and Dean holds his breath for a second.

Cas’ voice is soft when he answers, like he is afraid of shattering something.

_“Yes.”_

**The end.**

 

_Even after all this time_

_the Sun never says to the Earth,_

_“You owe me.”_

_Look what happens with a love like that,_

_It lights the whole sky._

_-Hafiz_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I actually finished this, because trust me, I never thought I would. Thank you if you've managed to read all of it, it means a lot.  
> Feel free to leave your thoughts on [my tumblr](http://hrvelle.tumblr.com/), on [livejournal](http://littleheavens.livejournal.com/5707.html), or in a comment below. Feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated. ♥


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